ACT 32: Seize the Day
by Galaxy1001D
Summary: Roger Smith is trapped in a world where he can't tell fantasy from reality. THE BIG O: SEASON THREE
1. Life's a Beach

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

_Cast in the name of God!_

**Negotiator**

_Ye not the guilty!_

**Android**

_We have come to terms!_

**Butler**

_Big-O!_

**Officer**

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! Big-O!_

_Big-O!_

_Big-O! Big-O! -O! -O! Big-O!_

_Chapter One: Life's a Beach_

_The world of Paradigm City is a world without memory. One day, forty years ago every person woke up with total amnesia. The world outside seemed to be a desolate wasteland. But humans are adaptable creatures. If they can find out how to repair things and harness electricity, they can make some kind of civilization. But Memories are like nightmares. They can show up when you least expect them._

Roger Smith lived in a large white tower that used to be a bank before he made it his home. His bedroom was on the top floor, allowing a spectacular few of decrepit buildings, damaged titanic geodesic domes, and towering twelve story construction robots. Roger wasn't looking at the view, his curtains were closed, and he was in bed. He groaned as he tossed and turned as a sprightly rendition of classical piano music thundered out from the parlor just outside his room.

Roger groaned as he sat up and rubbed his eyes. Another bad night filled with half remembered nightmares. He had hoped that his recent trip to Electric City would banish these disturbing dreams but instead they'd gotten more intense. He had been losing sleep and the sleep he did get was so bad he didn't know if he should be resentful or grateful that he slept so little.

Roger looked at himself in a full length mirror and saw a handsome man who appeared to be in his mid-twenties. His broad shoulders and trim waist indicated both strength and agility. His jet-black hair with his strong jaw and high cheekbones on his boyish face made him the definition of 'tall, dark, and handsome'. But right now he didn't feel very handsome. His messy hair, black pajamas and sour expression was closer to 'looks like hell' but he stood up straight, ran his hands through his tousled hair and attempted to put on a brave face.

He had to. When he opened the door to his bedroom he wasn't alone anymore. There in the roomy parlor at the piano was R Dorothy Wayneright, her dainty fingers attacking the keys with a ferocity that was completely out of character for the rest of her. He wasn't alone so he had to pretend that he didn't feel like a total wreck. The thundering music was being played by a pianist, not a record player or some other machine.

That wasn't a hundred percent true was it? Technically Dorothy Wayneright _was_ a machine, an android to be precise, but you'd never know it by looking at her. While most androids looked like walking crash test dummies, Dorothy appeared to be a petite teenage girl with egg white skin and brick red hair. She was the most humanlike android in existence that Roger was aware of. Despite her blank expression and smooth unnatural movements he often felt that she was just as real as a girl made of flesh and blood.

Roger snorted as he compared her neat, almost professional appearance with his own disheveled one. She was dressed in a reddish black dress that had a white ruffled collar and formal white cuffs. A set of black stockings and shiny black shoes completed her ensemble. Her red pageboy haircut was immaculate, her bangs broken by a black barrette. He, on the other hand, felt like ten miles of bad road.

* * *

><p>At breakfast he made a feeble attempt to act like a human being before retreating behind his newspaper. Dorothy Wayneright sat at the other end of the table sipping on coffee despite the fact that she technically didn't have to eat. Inviting her to the table was his way of letting her know that she was a guest and not a servant, but since she usually spent her day cleaning the house he wasn't sure if the message was received.<p>

"It's rude to read the newspaper at the table," she said in her calm voice.

"Yeah," he grunted. "It's rude to wake a guy up who hasn't been sleeping well either. What's your point?"

"Roger, if you don't want my company at the breakfast table you only need to tell me," Dorothy said. "I can't really eat very much and I can't taste my food. I could skip breakfast. There are still food shortages anyway. Everybody is still rationing."

"Sorry Dorothy," Roger sighed as he set his newspaper down. "I guess I'm not good company lately. Isn't it funny that sometimes you're better at being a human being than I am?"

"Those that can't do, teach," Dorothy said, although she didn't make it clear whether it was she or Roger who was doing the teaching. "Roger this has been going off and on for a while. Have you considered getting professional help?"

"Getting professional help only made it worse," Roger retorted.

"You can't be the only person in the city who has trouble sleeping," Dorothy insisted. "Have you considered seeing a doctor?"

"Don't trust doctors," Roger sighed before he took a sip of his coffee. "Anyways I don't need them. I never get sick."

"Physically," Dorothy conceded. "Mentally I'm not sure about. You haven't been the same ever since our trip to Electric City. When that monster in the lake appeared nobody's brain worked properly. It seemed to be broadcasting its thoughts like a radio signal, overriding everybody's thoughts and turning their minds into complete gibberish. The only reason I wasn't affected was because I'm an android."

"Thank goodness Big O's cockpit seemed to shield me from the worst of it," Roger shuddered as the image of a winged, bloated, scaly, rubbery-looking monster with a face was filled with a mass of feelers flashed before his eyes. "While that creature existed everybody in Electric City went crazy. There were riots, suicides and murders. Everyone there probably has permanent psychological damage. All because I couldn't connect the dots in time."

"Roger, you can't blame yourself," Dorothy said in her calm monotone. "It isn't your fault what happened in Electric City."

"I can't remember what it was like," Roger shuddered. "All I remember is waking up in Big O's cockpit after you carried me in there."

"Roger. Please," Dorothy said. "You don't want to go there. You were suspicious of the activities at Dinosaur Lodge the entire time. You did everything you could."

"That's easy for you to say," Roger looked away.

"It is," Dorothy said. "When Beck kidnapped me at the Nightingale, he instructed us to cooperate or he would kill Doctor Wayneright. I chose to resist, and my father was killed. As a matter of fact Beck never gave the order for that man to shoot. I frightened the gunman, and he pulled the trigger. Was that my fault?"

Roger could almost hear sounds of the gunshot and Timothy Wayneright dropping his cane. "What?" Roger gasped. "No! Of course not! You're not the one who put a gun to your creator's back!"

"Then why are you blaming yourself for what happened in Electric City?" Dorothy asked. "You aren't responsible for what happened. It is irrational for you to blame yourself for what you can't prevent."

"That's hitting below the belt," Roger grunted. "I haven't been getting enough sleep and now you're picking on me."

"I'm not picking on you," Dorothy clarified. "I'm concerned about you. Ever since you restored my memory you've been harping on my physical health, even going as far as to study robotics. I don't see why I can't be concerned about _your_ wellbeing once in a while."

"Sure, fine," Roger gave an exaggerated shrug and a wry grin. "Go ahead. Knock yourself out if you want to. But do you have to be such a nag?"

"You often complain that I act like a heartless machine," Dorothy said. "Now you're complaining when I show concern. I get the impression that you just like to complain, Roger Smith."

"She's on to me," Roger muttered under his breath, but at least he was smiling.

"Master Roger," a tall elderly man in an archaic tuxedo greeted as he entered the room. His sparse white hair didn't cover the top of his head but he did have a luxurious white handlebar mustache. A black patch covered one eye. "Mail for you sir," he said as he placed a tray holding an envelope and a letter opener on the table beside his master.

"Thank you Norman," Roger said as he took the letter opener and slit open the envelope. He smelled the letter. "Hm, perfume." He glanced at Dorothy to check for a reaction, but of course there was none.

Dorothy could keep a perfect poker face whether she was receiving her fondest wish or being set on fire. The only time she would react emotionally was if she chose to. Roger suspected that her mechanical body didn't react to emotions the way a human's would so she didn't know how to convey an emotion she was actually experiencing at the time. It was ironic, but Dorothy would probably need to take drama classes so she could fake an emotion she was genuinely feeling.

Roger glanced at the letter and smiled in triumph. "Finally," he nodded. "Angel's come out of hiding. She's agreed to meet me at our usual spot. Looks like that coded message I put in the classifieds finally paid off."

"Roger I don't think you should see her," Dorothy said.

"What's the matter, Dorothy, jealous?" he teased.

"I wasn't programmed with such emotions," she told him in her bland calm voice.

You weren't programmed with such emotions but do you feel them anyway? Roger asked himself. Roger Smith considered himself an expert on women and knew that the fair sex could be deceptive, or at the very least evasive. Whoops, Dorothy's still talking, Roger. Try to keep up.

"Despite her intentions, she is a magnet for trouble," Dorothy continued. "Any interaction with her could involve you in physical and mental jeopardy."

"I could say the same thing about you," Roger laughed.

"At least I clean the house and do the laundry," Dorothy said. "She lies constantly and her allegiances continuously change. I don't believe she knows whose side she's on anymore."

"That's why I want to see her," Roger smiled. "If she's on _my_ side right now I've got to act fast. If I wait too long she'll be on somebody else's side and I'll never get the truth out of her."

"What is it that you think she knows?" Dorothy asked.

"What happened forty years ago," Roger shrugged. "What happened to me as a kid. Who my real parents were. What happened to Gordon Rosewater. The list goes on and on."

"Do you think it's wise to let her know you're interested in such things?" Dorothy asked. "She could use that as leverage against you whether she knows the answers to your questions or not."

"I thought you two were getting along better," Roger smirked. Was Dorothy's humanity showing?

"My opinion of her doesn't change the fact that she's unreliable or that danger follows her every move," Dorothy said. "Based on your past dealings with that woman, she will involve you in something terrible that will follow you home."

* * *

><p>No matter how dirty and polluted Paradigm City's beach was, there was something cleansing about it. Even if the beach was pristine, the water from the ocean would be undrinkable, but Roger always got the feeling of the purity, of renewal, as if the dirt from the city was being washed away. Not even the hulks of wrecked ships or the ruins of wrecked buildings sticking out of the sea could change that.<p>

Roger's long black Cadillac was parked on the beach. He was leaning against it while gazing at an enchanting blonde woman in pink. If she was a road, her curves would make a driver seasick. Her lovely face could be described as angelic. It was no surprise that no matter how many names she went by Roger always referred to her as 'Angel'.

"I'm surprised you agreed to meet me," Roger smiled at her.

"I'm surprised you wanted to contact me," Angel smiled back. "You didn't seem to be glad to see me last time we met."

"I was going through something at the time," Roger winked and scratched the back of his neck. "You didn't exactly catch me at my best."

"What about now?" she asked coyly. The salt water lapped up next to her shoes.

"I'm still going through something," he admitted before he gave an embarrassed chuckle. "But hey, who isn't in this town? To be honest, you've been acting pretty squirrely yourself. Where have you been all this time?"

"Did you ask me here to play twenty questions?" Angel teased.

"Maybe," Roger shrugged. "I asked you here for lots of reasons. To make amends for what I did and didn't do. To grill you like a fish until I get some answers. To make sure you're all right and to see if you need help. Lots of reasons.

"You're going to have to pick one, Mister Negotiator," Angel told him. "You can't do all of those things at once."

"Yeah," Roger walked over to her and took her hand. "You know I never did thank you for saving me last month."

"I didn't save you," Angel looked away sadly. "Dorothy saved you."

"You saved both of us," Roger said. "I never got a chance to thank you."

"Roger, don't," Angel blinked back a tear. "There's no point playing like this. We both know it won't end well."

"I told Dorothy that I feel so disconnected to this world that I can't bring myself to be a part of it," Roger reached out and took her other hand "I get the feeling that you aren't a part of this world either."

"I'm just a memory," she said sadly. "A memory of what once was, nothing more. You can't recover the past, Roger. It's gone."

"No but you can learn from the mistakes of the past to plan for the future," Roger smiled gently. "That night I made a mistake I've been kicking myself for ever since. I'm not going to repeat that mistake now."

"R-roger!" But her protest was silenced when he seized her lips with his. There was a hint of desperation in their embrace as they kissed. The surf washed over their feet and they separated but remained holding hands as they scampered away from the water. "That wasn't so bad," Angel giggled. "We should have done that a long time ago. The world didn't end did it?"

"Of course not… whoa!" Roger moved backwards as the sea washed up over his knees and past the car. The water washed over the entire beach before receding, and Roger and Angel hunched to maintain their balance and not get swept off their feet. "The tide is really coming in fast today! I don't…" He gasped when the water receded leaving a putrid festering mess behind.

Dead fish had washed up on the beach by the hundreds. Some were unnaturally large and malformed, some bore a queer yellow-green tinge, and some looked more like jellyfish or octopi. Angel gave a frightened moan as she pointed at a larger object, a human corpse.

The waters continued to recede from the harbor exposing the sea bed and revealing more dead things lying in the ooze. Inexplicably the water kept receding exposing the sunken ships and ruined buildings to the sun for the first time in four decades. Millions of dying fish flopped about the reef in the distance.

It was then Roger noticed that the reef was in the shape of a titanic multi-pronged crown. The waters continued to recede, slowly revealing the face beneath the crown. A sense of dread hung in the air as Roger thought he recognized the hideous face that was gradually revealed a little at a time. The face of the massive stone statue wasn't even human, just a mass of tentacles giving the crowned head an octopus like appearance. It was the creature that had emerged from the lake by Electric City.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next:_ _It's Not Going to Kill You_


	2. It's Not Going to Kill You

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Two: It's Not Going to Kill You_

"Roger?" Dorothy opened the door to his bedroom and walked over to his bed. "Are you okay? You were screaming. Roger, wake up. You're having a nightmare."

* * *

><p>Roger opened his eyes to see Dorothy's pale face directly over him. He rubbed his eyes in confusion. Where was he? He was in bed, at home, safe. Why was Dorothy coming into his room to wake him up instead of using the piano? What had happened yesterday? Had he gone out and met Angel at the beach or was that all a dream? What day was it? And what was he doing these days? Was he working on a case? Did he even have a client?<p>

* * *

><p>At the breakfast table, Roger picked at his food before hiding behind the newspaper. He was still in his pajamas and hadn't combed his hair.<p>

"Roger, it's very rude to read the newspaper at the table," Dorothy said from her side of the table.

"Yeah," he muttered as he struggled to remember what he said yesterday. Or was it yesterday? Maybe he dreamed the whole thing. "It's rude to wake a guy up when he hasn't been sleeping well either," he muttered. "What's your point?"

Dorothy didn't reply. She just watched him. Her blank look was hard to interpret but Roger would say she was frowning.

"So uh… how was your day?" Roger mumbled before he set his newspaper down. "Sorry Dorothy. I guess I'm not good company lately. Isn't it funny that sometimes you're better at being a human being than I am?"

"Funny isn't the word I would use Roger," Dorothy replied.

Despite the bad sleep he had last night Roger found himself growing alert. He was feeding Dorothy her cues but she didn't respond the same way she did yesterday morning. She also didn't seem to notice he was saying the same things he did the last time they had breakfast. This meant something but Roger couldn't figure out what. "Aren't you going to suggest that I see a doctor?"

"What for?" the little redhead asked. "Are you sick?"

"I've never been sick a day in my life," Roger assured her.

"Neither have I," Dorothy replied, "but _you're_ only human. Are you feeling well?"

"Sure, I just haven't been _sleeping_ well, that's all," he shrugged.

"Then why do you think you need a doctor?" Dorothy asked.

"I don't," he said defensively. "I asked if _you_ thought I needed one."

"Do you?" Dorothy was relentless. She was a machine. Literally.

"No I don't!" Roger snapped. "I just asked if _you_ thought that I need a doctor! That's all!"

"Why would I think that you need a doctor?" Dorothy asked. "Are you feeling all right? You look like you have a headache. Perhaps you should see a doctor."

"No," Roger shook his head. "I'm fine. Forget I said anything. Did Angel call?"

"Not that I'm aware of," Dorothy replied. "Is she posing as a doctor this time?"

* * *

><p>After breakfast Roger got dressed he went out on the rooftop patio to stare out at the city. He wasn't in his blazer, nor did he wear his tie. He was only in a white shirt, black slacks and suspenders and matching shoes. Was he awake enough to face the day yet? The city could be depressing at any time, but nowadays it was especially bad. Shattered buildings and titanic shattered geodesic domes that once covered entire neighborhoods was the view that greeted him. Strangely the sounds of construction machinery, the antlike movements of the workers, and the sight of cranes and gigantic multilimbed construction robots were more comforting than irritating. They meant that no matter how wounded or broken Paradigm City was, it was always possible to heal and rebuild.<p>

Speaking of a machine that was both irritating and comforting, the dainty and graceful R Dorothy Wayneright followed him out to the patio. She joined him at the wall separating the rooftop from a fatal plunge to the street. "May I ask you a question, Roger?" she asked, her calm quiet voice sounding almost shy to his ears.

"I don't need to see a doctor, Dorothy, I just need some sleep," he replied testily.

"No, it wasn't that," she got up on the wall and sat near him, allowing her legs to rest over the dizzying drop to the sidewalk far below. "I wanted to ask you a question about your feelings."

"About my feelings?" Roger leaned on the wall and rested his chin in his hands.  
>"What brought this on?"<p>

"You said at breakfast that I can be better at being human than you," Dorothy said. "What did you mean by that? Are you implying there's something wrong with you?"

"Left myself open for that one," he smiled as he looked away.

"If I presume you meant that humans are superior to androids your remark would indicate that you find yourself lacking in some way," Dorothy continued. "What is it about yourself that you're judging so harshly?"

"What?" Roger sneered. "You're going to be my therapist now?"

"Your remarks at breakfast lead me to believe that you think you need one," Dorothy said. "You have to admit that you didn't seem yourself this morning."

"Can't argue with that," Roger shrugged. "I don't know, sometimes it seems that this whole place is just a bad dream. That somewhere I'm going to wake up and find out that none of this happened. Nothing seems real anymore."

"I often get that sensation," Dorothy said, "mainly because I myself am not real."

"I hate it when you talk that way, Dorothy," Roger sighed. "Don't talk like that. You're real. I can touch you."

"You never do," she said.

"Excuse me?" Roger looked at her quizzically. "Did I hear that right?"

"What is it about yourself that needs improvement?" Dorothy asked.

"I don't know," Roger shook his head to clear it. "I guess I can't bring myself to care about anything anymore. I can't seem to get connected to anything or anybody. It's like I'm just an actor on a giant stage, and between you and me I don't think I'm a very _good_ actor either."

"That's a pity," Dorothy said. "I was hoping to ask you a question about the human condition, but it doesn't seem that you're qualified to answer it."

"I don't know," Roger smiled ruefully. "Give me a shot. You know what they say: Those that can't do teach."

"Very well," she nodded. "What does it feel like to fall in love?"

Roger coughed as his sluggish mind raced for an answer. Why did this question catch him totally off guard? Why wasn't he expecting it? She'd asked him trick questions like this before. And why was it so hard to answer? "Well, uh… I…"

"If the question is too personal I understand," she assured him. "It's just that human feelings don't come naturally to me and I want to interpret the sensations appropriately should I experience them. Based off what I've read about the subject, the feeling is often subject to misinterpretation if not outright denial."

"Actually you raise a valid point," Roger admitted as he wracked his brain for the answer. Surely he had fallen in love at some time hadn't he? "I… I don't know how to say this Dorothy," he stammered awkwardly, "but I'm not sure if I know."

"I find that surprising." Dorothy turned her head to look at him. "I was led to believe that your nickname 'Mister Negotiator' didn't just refer to your occupation."

Roger blushed at that remark. Before Dorothy moved in the ladies did call him 'the Negotiator' because he had a talent for being able to talk a girl into _anything_. But could he actually say truthfully that he had truly been in love with any of his paramours? "I admit I've dated a lot of women, but I don't know if I could say that I was actually _in love_ with any of them. Sure we had fun and I got really connected to some of them but…"

"How do you know?" Dorothy interrupted. "How do you know that you weren't in love with any of them? How can you tell the difference?"

"That's a good question," Roger put his fist in front of his mouth as he frowned in concentration. "How do I know? It's almost as if I was once in love but can't remember. Like I can remember _being_ in love… but not _who_ I loved, or _when_. It's very confusing…"

"But you can recognize the sensation, can't you?" Dorothy asked. "If you can recognize the sensation you can tell me what it's like."

"I guess," Roger mumbled, "but taking it all out of context makes it even harder to define. Poets and writers have spent the last forty years trying to express it. I wouldn't be surprised if they spent all the years beforehand struggling with it too."

"Did you ever feel that way in recent memory?" Dorothy prodded. "Even if it wasn't actual love, but something close."

"There was that night with Angel by the river," Roger murmured. "We came really close to kissing, but for some reason I didn't seal the deal. I've been wondering why I didn't take the plunge ever since. Maybe we could have had something. And then there's _you_, Dorothy. I don't know what to make of my feelings towards you… Hm?" he looked around in confusion. He was alone on the rooftop. When he went back inside he saw his butler Norman exiting the elevator.

"Ah Master Roger," Norman announced with mild amusement. "There is a young lady waiting for you in the ground floor parlor. From what little she told me she's interested in hiring you to perform a negotiation."

Good. Work would be good for him. It would be good to get out of the house and get his mind on something.

* * *

><p>When he entered the parlor on the ground floor he had his mind on something. "Ay-ay angel!" Roger gasped at the woman silhouetted by the light coming in from the open door that exposed the street.<p>

"Hello Mister Negotiator," the blonde turned away from the open door to look at him. She was dressed in a short black skirt and a pink jacket with black lapels and buttons. Black stockings and shoes covered her legs and feet.

"What are you doing here?" he asked breathlessly.

"What else?" Angel looked at the carpet on the floor. "I want you to handle a negotiation for me. Between me and Paradigm. I can't live like this anymore. I need to come in and stop hiding. I can't live with this price on my head."

"What do you mean?" Roger hurried over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. "Angel, you know you can't just turn yourself over to them."

"That's why I came to see you," Angel met his gaze to reveal a tired, defeated woman. "I need you to negotiate my surrender with them. I promise to turn myself in and tell them everything they want to know in exchange for a safe haven. A new name, a new identity, even a new face if they can manage it. In exchange I'll tell them everything they want to know about the Union, what Gordon Rosewater revealed to me, even what happened forty years ago. I'll give them everything if they give me safety and a chance to live a new life!"

"You can't trust them, Angel!" Roger pulled her closer to him. "Once they have you they won't have to give you anything that they can just take!"

"They cut _Beck_ a deal didn't they?" Angel dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief. "Why should it be any different for me?"

"Because you know too much," Roger put his arms around her. "I'm afraid that once they have you they'll never let you go!"

"Roger!" Angel's eyes became alert when she noticed Roger face close to hers. "What are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago," Roger whispered to her.

"Should we do this?" Angel asked meekly.

"Come on, Angel," Roger said in a husky whisper. "It's not as if the world's going to end or anything."

As their lips met a metallic crash and the tinkling of glass was heard. Angel and Roger turned to see R Dorothy Wayneright standing in front of a silver tray and wet shards of broken glass. The redhead's face held no expression, but her slender body was shivering.

"Dorothy?" Roger asked. Was Dorothy upset at the sight of Roger and Angel or was she malfunctioning?

Without a word, the little android dashed past them and out the door to the street.

"Dorothy!" Roger shouted as he ran outside after her. He would have to run quickly if he expected to catch her. Once she got out in the open she could achieve speeds that a human on foot couldn't match. "Dorothy come back! Come back here!"

A vegetable stand had been set up on the sidewalk and pedestrians were about. Dorothy paused momentarily while trying to get around them and Roger caught up to her in a burst of athletic prowess.

"Dorothy!" Roger cried while seizing her hand. "Dorothy, don't run away! Please…"

She turned and looked at him with strangely unfocused eyes. "You don't love me!" she cried.

"What?" Roger's mind was still trying to catch up to all that had happened.

"You don't love me!" she shouted while flinging him away. Roger lost his grip on her and staggered backwards, but at least she hadn't struck him. "You love her! You don't love me! Nobody does because I'm not real! I'm a machine! I'm a machine and I'll never be a real person! I can't love you because I'm just a machine! Get away from me!"

That's where you're wrong, Roger thought. You're real because real girls never make things simple, they always make things complicated. "Dorothy don't go away!" he heard himself cry. "Don't leave me!"

"I've got to!" Dorothy shouted back. "I'm just in the way! You'll never be happy as long as I'm here Roger Smith!"

"Dorothy I'll never be happy if you go," Roger said with a tear in his eye. "Don't go. I'm afraid I'll never see you again."

"I'm just a machine," Dorothy insisted, but at least her voice was quiet, more like the calm Dorothy Wayneright he knew. "I can't ever know what's like to love, or to _be_ loved. I'm not a person. I'm just a thing."

"I can show you what it's like to be loved," Roger smiled gently as he took her hand and pulled her close to him. "You've never been kissed on the lips before, have you Dorothy Wayneright?"

"Roger why are you doing this?" Dorothy asked as he put his arms around her. "People are looking, and this is lie. It doesn't mean anything. I'm not real."

"Come on Dorothy," Roger smiled as he leaned down to her. "It won't kill you." As his lips touched hers he felt her slender arms curl up around his back. "There," he smiled down at her. "Was that so bad?"

"Thank you Roger," Dorothy's smiled gratefully. "Now my life is complete."

And then her head exploded.

Roger wasn't sure that he heard the gunshot. One second Dorothy was giving him a beatific smile and next her head seemed to pop like a balloon. His face stung as it was hit with fragments of plastic, metal and circuitry. "Dorothy!" he cried as he shook her now headless body. "No! Dorothy! Don't leave me! Dorothy! DOROTHY!"

A familiar effeminate laugh was heard mocking him. Roger looked up to see a thin gangly man in a wide brimmed hat and a pinstripe suit laughing at him. His eyes were hidden behind bangs of blonde hair and his white bloodless face smiled with blood red lips. His right hand was made of metal and it twirled his pistol like a gunslinger in a western before placing it in a jacket pocket.

"You!" Roger whispered. "Alan Gabriel!"

"That's what you get for being an android lover!" the sinister cyborg called out in a sing-song voice. "I'm _so_ jealous too! I was actually aiming for you but you know I think I like it this way more! Be seeing you!" He tipped his hat and got into a long green sedan and drove past Roger who could only sputter in incoherent rage.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next:_ _Back Where It Began_


	3. Back Where It Began

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Three: Back Where It Began_

"Roger?" Dorothy's small pale hand touched the shoulder of the man lying in bed. "Wake up. You're having a nightmare. Are you all right?"

* * *

><p>Roger's eyes popped open. "Dorothy!" he cried. "You're alive!" He put his arms around her and pulled her down to him. "You're alive! Thank God! I'm sorry! I'm sorry I never told you!" He hugged her as he repeatedly kissed her face. It was a good thing that Dorothy didn't have a sense of taste because Roger hadn't brushed his teeth yet. "Thank God! It was all a dream! It was all a…" he stopped, suddenly self-conscious and looked at her emotionless expression. "What are you doing here?" he growled as he pushed her away.<p>

"You were screaming," Dorothy told him. "You were in bed screaming my name."

"Like _that's_ ever gonna happen," a blushing Roger shook his head and rubbed his eyes. He rose from the bed and walked out clutching his pillow.

* * *

><p>Breakfast time was awkward, so Roger hid behind his newspaper.<p>

"It's rude to read the newspaper at the table," Dorothy said in her calm voice.

Roger stared at her as if she just told him that she was going to strap a bomb to her body and jump off the roof. "Don't leave the house!" he hissed in a hoarse whisper. "I don't care if the building's on fire! Don't leave the house! You can hide in the basement."

"Roger are you all right?" the redhead asked him. "You're acting very strange."

"I uh… haven't been sleeping well," he stammered. "All I need is a good night's sleep and I'll be right as rain."

"Is something going on that you're not telling me?" Dorothy asked.

"No!" Roger snapped before rubbing his forehead. "No," he hissed as he tried to make his voice sound normal. "I'm fine. I just had a really bad dream that's all. It happens sometimes."

"It's been happening a lot lately," Dorothy commented. "I'm starting to see why you stay up so late."

"I'm just not getting enough sleep that's all," he assured her. "That nightmare really shook me up."

"What was it about?" Dorothy asked.

"What?"

"What was it about?" Dorothy repeated. "What happened in your dream that upset you so much?"

"It's ah… personal," Roger blushed. "I don't want to talk about it. I just want to forget it. Put it behind me. It never happened anyway."

"I see," Dorothy sipped her tea while watching Roger poke at his food. He may have been shoveling food in his mouth to avoid talking but at least he was eating. When he seemed to lose interest in his meal Dorothy spoke again. "Was I in it?"

"Were you in what?" Roger muttered.

"Was I in your dream?" Dorothy asked.

"No," he said as he sipped his coffee. "No you weren't in it." He forced the rest of his breakfast down in order to avoid talking.

"I see," Dorothy said as she refilled her teacup. She put in a lump of sugar and slowly stirred. "Then why were you shouting my name?"

"I wasn't shouting your name," Roger muttered.

"Yes you were," Dorothy said. "You were screaming it. I thought something was attacking you. Then I heard you say 'Dorothy don't leave me'. I want to assure you that I am not going anywhere Roger Smith. I don't have anywhere else to go."

"Thanks," he smiled ruefully at her. "It's nice to hear."

"Why were you shouting my name if I wasn't in your dream?" Dorothy asked.

"I dunno, I must have been uh… looking for you…" Roger stammered.

"Why were you looking for me?" Dorothy asked. "It must have been urgent."

"Uh… it was," Roger nodded. "It was very important."

"Why?"

Roger resisted the urge to slam his head against the table. "I dunno. It was a dream. Dreams don't always make sense, do they? They're just… dreams. Don't you ever dream?"

"I dream all the time Roger," Dorothy said, "but never when I'm asleep."

"Really?" Roger smiled, grateful for the chance to ask her some personal questions for once. "You don't dream when you're asleep? Never? Why not?"

"When I sleep my system reboots and runs a full diagnostic," she replies. "My thoughts are a chaotic jumble during that time and I can't really remember it."

"Oh," Roger nodded. "But you dream during the day? What about?"

"Living my life to the fullest," Dorothy replied. "Experiencing the world and finding my place in it. Exploring the capabilities and limitations of R Dorothy Wayneright. For example, I often wonder how different I am from the Dorothy Wayneright I was modeled after. Am I merely an imitation or something unique? Am I a person or a collection of programs and subroutines? Am I capable of love or simply curious?"

"Nothing like the big questions," Roger joked weakly before taking a sip of coffee.

"Would it be possible for the two of us to fall in love and would our love last?" Dorothy continued.

Roger choked and spit his coffee out in a fine spray.

"If a megadeus fell in the tunnels under the city and no one was there to hear it, would it make a sound?" Dorothy said. "I dream about a lot of things."

"Y-yeah," Roger nodded weakly as he wiped his mouth with a napkin. "So do I."

Norman entered the dining room carrying a silver serving tray. "Master Roger, there's a young lady downstairs waiting for you in the ground floor parlor," he said as he placed Roger's dishes and coffee cup on the tray.

"You let her in?" Roger asked. "Without my permission?"

"Yes sir," Norman smiled. "She matches the criteria as per your instructions."

"Time to make myself presentable," Roger smiled at the dour girl across the table.

* * *

><p>Soon Roger was impeccable in his black slacks, black shoes, a black tie bisected by a gray stripe, and a crisp white shirt covered by a black polo jacket. "I make it a habit to only allow beautiful young ladies to enter my house without permission," he smiled as he entered the downstairs parlor before he did a double take. "What the..? Angel!"<p>

"Hello Mister Negotiator," the curvaceous blonde in the pink jacket greeted him. "I was wondering if you were doing anything today. I was hoping to go apartment hunting and then we could have a picnic later."

"I um… have a lot to do right now," Roger rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "Would you take a rain check?"

"Go," Dorothy said as she entered the room from behind him. "Spend the day with Angel. It will be good for you. You've cut yourself off from your fellow human beings and its making you crazy."

"Dorothy!" Roger gasped. "Are you okay with this?"

"Of course I am," Dorothy said without batting an eye. "You need to get out more. You need to see your friends. You need to go on a date. You'll go insane if you cut yourself off from the world anymore. Right now Angel is the best thing for you."

"Isn't she sweet?" Angel's smile was radiant. "Look Roger, your big sister is giving us her blessing!"

"You're sure about this?" Roger asked. "I mean, you aren't jealous?"

"Roger I'm an android," Dorothy's neutral tone was almost condescending. "I don't experience emotions the way you do. I wasn't programmed for feelings like that. Go. Go with Angel. When you come back maybe you'll be yourself again."

"Okay," he said as Angel took his arm and escorted him to the door. "If you say so… You're sure you're okay with this?"

"You're losing your mind being cooped up in here," Dorothy told him. "You haven't been accepting any clients ever since we returned from Electric City. You need a diversion. Go."

* * *

><p>Roger didn't know why he was in the passenger seat of Angel's pink car. Dorothy shooed him out the door before he had a chance to think. He was never comfortable out of the driver's seat. He glanced over at Angel. The gorgeous blonde was surprisingly relaxed and confident, much closer to the woman he knew before Union's Agent Twelve came to town. She chatted about their shared experiences, the weather, and people they both knew.<p>

"Dorothy really is very sweet," Angel said as they passed two prostitutes wearing fur coats standing on a street corner. "She really _is_ devoted to you. And she makes me laugh. Have the two of you ever gotten close?"

"As close as a guy can get to an emotionless android," Roger shrugged as the car passed over a metal plate in the road that clanged when they went over it . "I've been a perfect gentleman if that's what's you mean."

"Have you ever told her you love her?" Angel asked.

"Of course," Roger blushed. "She's like a daughter to me."

"Like a daughter?" Angel smiled slyly.

"Or a sister," Roger frowned. "Maybe a cousin."

"A kissing cousin?" the blonde teased.

"Whatever she is, she's family," Roger pulled at his collar. "Why? You want to go on a date with her or something?"

Angel laughed. "I'll settle for going on a date with you, Roger Smith."

"Good," Roger winked. "I was getting jealous for a minute there. So… Angel," he cleared his throat uncomfortably. "What have you been doing lately? A lot must have happened since I saw you last."

"Just getting my life in order," Angel smiled. "What about you Mister Negotiator?"

"Thought about investing in dream research, had it blow up in my face," Roger shrugged. "Negotiated for some developers before that. Nothing big."

"You don't seem to be in the mood to help me househunt," Angel said as her car passed a building with a horrific gargoyle hanging from the roof. "So why did you get in the car with me? Or do you do anything your little android tells you?"

"I've got… questions," Roger admitted. "What happened the day Alex Rosewater attacked the city with Big Fau?" Roger asked, "and what did Gordon Rosewater show you after I left you? Did he really take you six hundred and sixty-six floors below the city and show you a control room that could control the ghost of a megadeus called Big Venus? Is this entire city just one giant puppet show? What happened that night, and what happened forty years ago?"

"That's not what you want to know," Angel teased. "You want to know if you're human or not. You want to know if you're real."

"I assumed the questions were related," Roger huffed.

"Very well," Angel nodded. "If you really want to know I might as well take you to where the life of Roger the Negotiator began."

* * *

><p>Dorothy walked into the large hanger in the center of the building. Most of the floors or the white tower that Roger lived in was hollowed out to make room for the humungous black robot known as the megadeus, the robot that Roger called the Big O. The megadeus was an ungainly metal giant towering over fifty feet tall. Two vaguely humanoid legs supported its barrel shaped body. The enormous arms of the megadeus were in reality massive piledrivers with huge mechanical hands instead of chisels. The head of Big O was an impassive face that was dwarfed by the megadeus' humungous body. The megadeus' face was topped by a red crystalline crown and the top of its chest was covered by a red collar that concealed the cockpit where Roger controlled the massive robot.<p>

"Please," the little android said as she stood on the catwalk before the massive robot's impassive face. "Don't go away. Roger needs you. Don't abandon him. Please, this isn't your fault. I don't know what you're hiding from Roger but it doesn't matter. Roger needs you. Please help him."

* * *

><p>"Here we are," Angel said as her pink car pulled up in front of a large boarded up three story gray brick school building.<p>

"This… place," Roger said as he and Angel got out of the car. "I know it. This is the building where you gave me Gordon Rosewater's book." This was the building he found after Ellen Waite was murdered and he met Angel wearing a red hooded cloak. This was the building that twisted memories told him Gordon Rosewater implanted Memories into children with shaved heads.

Roger walked past the deserted lobby and made his way through a dusty and rubble filled hall the back of the building. His progressed was blocked by a wall the he didn't think belonged there. Plaster had fallen off it to reveal bare concrete blocks. A section of the floor in front of it was filled in with concrete as if sealing off a stairway that once led to the basement.

"Here you go," Angel handed him a large two handed sledgehammer. "Have fun. Good luck finding your past and all."

"You want to tell me what's behind this wall, Angel?" Roger asked as he took a set of safety goggles out of his coat and put them on.

"You know what's behind this wall," Angel said as she turned and walked away.

The concrete blocks weren't reinforced and shattered easily under his blows. At last he knocked a hole big enough to step through. On the other side was a checkered floor and red tinged walls. He set down the sledgehammer and took a flashlight out his pocket and examined his surroundings. A checkerboard pattern was on the walls of a large sunken chamber.

_Visions of baldheaded children stared back at Roger as he examined his surroundings, followed by visions of men in surgical gowns. An old man, Gordon Rosewater smiled in a fatherly fashion at him, but Roger must have been shorter than he was now or have been sitting down. He felt himself seated, being wheeled around, was he in a wheelchair? A wheelchair that was taking him to a strange apparatus that looked like it belonged in an optometrist's office or a dental surgery lab. He was seated in front of the apparatus with everything pointed at him. He peered into the hooded viewer and saw… a barcode… _

"Back where it all began… eh Mister Negotiator?" a masculine voice brought Roger out of his memories.

"Who's there?" Roger shined his light around but with no power and no windows in this room it was as black as a coal mine in here.

"Did you forget me already, Mister Negotiator?" A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. His face was bandaged like a mummy, but he was Roger's height and build and wearing a long coat. "But you wanted to forget me, didn't you Mister Negotiator? You wanted to forget all about me! You can't blame me for everything you know. You can't erase me and pretend like I never existed!"

"Michael Seebach!" Roger cried. "How did you get out? I thought you were locked up at Riker's Island!"

"Fool!" the bandaged faced man growled. "That's not my name!"

"Schwartzwald then!" Roger said as he assumed a fighting stance. "Whatever you call yourself you aren't going to get at the Truth by denying who you are!"

"That's ironic coming from you!" his adversary laughed. "You did everything you could to deny who you are!"

"I know who I am," Roger snarled. "I'm Roger Smith, the negotiator."

"No," his foe shook his bandaged head. "That's just what you've told yourself. But that's not who you are."

"How would you know?" Roger growled.

"I know better than anyone!" the apparition said while tearing the bandages off his face. "I know who Roger Smith really is? Who else would know if not me?"

Roger gasped and staggered backwards. The man who tore the bandages off his head looked exactly like Roger Smith himself, right down to his unique eyebrows!

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next:_ _Standing In the Rain_


	4. Standing In the Rain

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Four: Standing In the Rain_

Someone threw a sheet over Roger and he couldn't see. No, somebody threw a blanket over him! He tore himself free and spotted the other Roger charging at him in the darkness. With an animal grunt he struck at the apparition…

* * *

><p>In the parlor on the top floor of the Smith mansion, Dorothy Wayneright sat down at the piano bench but before she could begin playing she heard a guttural cry and the breaking of glass. Without hesitation she rose from the bench, went to the door and let the light of day into the darkened bedroom. "Are you all right Roger?"<p>

Roger was in his pajamas, holding his bleeding fist, hyperventilating as he stared at the broken full length mirror he was standing in front of. He looked down to see his reflection staring back at him from multiple pieces of broken glass.

* * *

><p>Breakfast was tense. He hid behind his newspaper almost immediately and barely touched his plate.<p>

"Would you like to talk about it?" Dorothy asked.

Roger grunted in reply without looking up from his newspaper.

"It's rude to read the newspaper at the table," she said in her calm voice.

Roger started laughing, at first quietly and soon uncontrollably as he threw the newspaper on the floor. It was difficult for Dorothy to tell if he was laughing or crying, but he seemed maniacal, almost hysterical.

"You should see a doctor," she said calmly.

"I don't need doctors!" Roger chuckled. "I never get sick!"

"Roger you're not well," Dorothy said.

"I don't need a doctor," Roger smiled as he pointed at his hand. "Look my hand isn't even injured! I…" he stopped and stared at his right hand. It was true. There was no break on the skin where he injured it earlier when he broke his mirror. "I'm… not even injured…" he whispered. "How is this possible? Dorothy, look at my hand! It was bleeding earlier, but now it's perfectly fine! I'm not hurt!"

"You're not awake yet," Dorothy said.

"I'm perfectly awake!" Roger insisted. "I… I broke my mirror. I'm sure of it." He got up and jogged back to his bedroom.

"Roger you haven't eaten breakfast," Dorothy called after him.

Roger entered his bedroom and went straight to the mirror. "I broke my mirror and I…" His voice trailed off. His full length mirror was perfectly intact, his reflection staring back at him in disbelief. "I broke my mirror…"

* * *

><p>Somehow Roger Smith got dressed. Somehow he got his hair combed and his teeth brushed. He wasn't sure how that happened but he hoped that neither Norman nor Dorothy was involved. He was sitting at his desk staring at his cup of coffee when R Dorothy Wayneright walked over to him and added a tablespoon of sugar into it.<p>

"Hey!" Roger was jolted awake. "No cream or sugar in my coffee!"

"Having black coffee all the time isn't good for you," Dorothy said.

"I don't like anything in my coffee," Roger insisted.

"You didn't eat your breakfast today," the android girl told him.

"What does that have to do with anything?" he frowned.

"Just as you are studying robotics I am studying medicine," Dorothy explained. "Humans derive their energy from sugars. Caffeine causes humans to use up their sugars more quickly. If you don't add sugar to your coffee you will use up all your fuel. It really is that simple."

Against his better judgment, Roger took a swallow. "Ugh!" he sputtered. "It tastes like syrup!"

"If you want to drink so much coffee, perhaps you shouldn't skip meals," Dorothy suggested. "If you don't add any food down there I'll have to make it with lots of sugar and cream."

"You're ruthless," he muttered as he rose to his feet. "I'm going out on the patio."

"What for?" Dorothy asked.

"To jump!" he shouted over his shoulder.

When Roger stepped out on his rooftop patio, it was raining. Perfect. He didn't care. He didn't have a hat. He wasn't wearing a raincoat. He didn't even have an umbrella. "Some people choose to stand in the rain without an umbrella," he muttered to himself, "that's what it means to be a free human being." He looked up into the sky and it felt like someone was pouring a bucket of water in his face. The rain chose that moment to really roar down before going back to the gentle sprinkle it was earlier. He looked at the wall where Dorothy always stood. He was tempted to stand there himself, but he was feeling dizzy and didn't want to chance it, even if it wasn't raining. He really needed more sleep.

After standing in the rain a few minutes he turned and saw a bedraggled R Dorothy Wayneright standing behind him. Her red hair was now matted against her head, her reddish black dress clinging to her slender body. Roger ran a hand over his forehead in a vain attempt to wipe the moisture away. "How long have you been standing there?" he sighed.

"About five minutes," she replied.

"What are you doing sneaking around behind me like that?" he asked.

"You said you were going to jump," she said.

Roger started laughing. "I was being sarcastic!" he assured her.

"You haven't been yourself," she said.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I haven't have I?"

"You should see a doctor," she said.

"I don't need one," he muttered.

"You need to come inside and get out of your wet clothes," she said.

"R Dorothy Wayneright," Roger smiled grimly. "Are you flirting with me?"

"If it will keep you from catching pneumonia," she said.

"Don't worry about me," his smile was warmer now. "I haven't been sick a day in my life as far as I can remember."

"Come with me to the bedroom and take off your clothes," she said.

Roger tried to stifle a laugh. She had to be saying these things on purpose.

* * *

><p>Soon Roger was back in his pajamas and bathrobe, drinking another cup of coffee while sitting at the dining table. Dorothy entered carrying a serving tray and wearing an apron over her usual outfit. "Start with the salad," she said as she placed the greens before him. "I'll be back with some hot soup."<p>

Roger chuckled and decided to let Dorothy baby him. He stuck his fork into the salad and noticed it was decorated with tiny cherry tomatoes. Tomatoes…

_He was at old man Rosewater's farm looking at his reflection on a bunch of tomatoes. He saw a barcode and an eye. Shelves of books burned as a squadron of Big Duos buzzed through a smoky sky. Big Duo, Big O and Big Fau marched through a city systematically destroying what man had built. A factory created androids that looked like Roger Smith, right down to his black suit. Old Gordon Rosewater gazed down at Roger, his portly frame covered by a bloodstained apron_.

The plate shattered when it hit the floor, the greens scattered, and cherry tomatoes rolled to the far corners of the room. Roger was hyperventilating as he clutched the tablecloth. He was leaning forward in his chair so much that he had to scoot the chair back to avoid having his face hit the table.

He felt small hands pull on his shoulders and sit him up straight. "Perhaps we'll skip the salad," Dorothy said as she straightened the tablecloth and pushed Roger's chair in. She pushed the silver serving cart up to the table and gave him a bowl of soup. "Be careful, it's hot," she instructed as she placed a new set of silverware near the bowl. "If you need help eating I'll be right back." She said as she pushed the serving tray away.

"Sorry about the mess," he mumbled.

"Don't worry about it," she said as she came back with a broom and dustpan.

Roger tried to ignore her sweeping, but the mess was right at his feet. He looked into the bowl of soup. It was filled with dark broth, chopped meat, tangy spices, chopped vegetables and… tomatoes. Tiny sliced fragments of tomatoes. All chopped up and cooked and seasoned.

"_You've got to harvest when the time is right," Gordon Rosewater had said._

_A horde of bald children stared at him. A barcode danced before his eyes._

A delicate white hand held his chin as a spoonful of tangy hot soup was put in his mouth. He struggled free and glowered at Dorothy who was audaciously _spoon-feeding_ him like he was a baby! "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded.

"Feeding you," the girl replied. "It is important that you keep your strength up."

"I'm not sick!" he shouted.

"That is for a doctor to determine," Dorothy replied. "Look at yourself Roger Smith. You can't even feed yourself. You haven't had breakfast and you threw your salad on the floor."

"I've had a lot on my mind lately," Roger grumbled.

"Like what?"

"Like… well…" Roger's eyes rolled up at the ceiling as he searched for an answer that wasn't totally pathetic.

"You keep thinking about it," Dorothy suggested. "In the meantime I'll keep feeding you. Unless you'd rather use an IV drip?"

"Give me that spoon!" he snatched it out of her hand. "I'll eat! I'll eat! Give me a break Dorothy! I'm not a child!"

"In that case I will give you the opportunity to prove it," Dorothy said as she wheeled away the serving tray.

Roger's cheeks burned in embarrassment. She was right. He wasn't himself. He was acting like a child. He should probably see a doctor. If a giant monster came out of the desert Paradigm City was doomed. Right now he was useless.

"_You don't know what sort of being you are and that's why you're frustrated," _Alex Rosewater had said during the only meal that was more humiliating than this one.

It was true. He didn't. He didn't even know how he got Big O. What had happened between the time he quit the Military Police and the time he first started piloting it was a mystery. His earliest memory of it was when he was fighting a giant octopus robot that had come out of JFK Mark.

For a while it didn't matter. He called Big O and it came. Roger Smith had the ultimate weapon that no one could beat. No point rocking the boat.

Now he wanted to know: How did he get a hold of the Big O and why didn't he remember how he got it? How was it that he never got sick and healed physical injuries in record time? What did these strange Memories mean and were they even his? Was he a human being or was he grown in a lab? Were his Memories his own or were they implanted in him? And what was the deal with his eyebrows?

He envied Dorothy Wayneright as she came back in with a hot roast beef sandwich for him. She knew who she was. She knew what she was. If there were Memories or feelings that didn't make sense she knew where they came from. Life was simple for an android.

"Dorothy," he gestured to her. "Sit down. I've got some questions for you."

Dorothy paused and gave him one of her blank looks before she sat down on the opposite side of the table.

"Dorothy, how do you handle having Memories that aren't your own?" Roger asked before taking a bite of his sandwich.

"It's a challenge," Dorothy admitted. "I never know if my inclinations are my own or belong to the dead girl that I was modeled after."

Roger nodded while he chewed, encouraging her to continue. He hadn't realized how hungry he was before now.

"It's like being a stranger to yourself," Dorothy continued. "Sometimes you find yourself missing things you aren't even sure that you had in the first place. You wonder if you like the things you think you like and wonder if you're the person you think you are. You second guess yourself, wondering what your motives are."

"I can relate," Roger muttered. "Experience has taught me to leave memories alone when they pop up but my instinctive reaction is to start digging."

"Perhaps you're just nosy," Dorothy offered. "You like to solve a mystery. You see it as just another challenge to overcome."

"A while ago Angel asked me why I pilot the megadeus, why Big O comes when I call," Roger sighed. "I didn't have an answer for her. Why do I pilot the Big O? Why do I feel compelled to protect the city?"

"Protecting the helpless is in your nature Roger," Dorothy told him.

"Is it?" Roger frowned. "How come? What makes me arrogant enough to think I can solve the city's problems by driving a giant robot? Why do I think that it has to be me who pilots it?"

"I assumed it was some kind of male dominance thing," Dorothy said.

Roger stared at her. "'Male dominance thing'? Where did you get that?"

"Men have to prove their superiority in order to feel comfortable," Dorothy said. "They have to be dominant. The problem is that there are few socially acceptable avenues to do so. A dominant male is aggressive. Aggression is a negative characteristic that promotes conflict and stifles cooperation. Therefore it was necessary for you to find a new way to establish your dominance. You protect those who cannot protect themselves. In this way you reinforce your self-importance without becoming someone you despise."

"I sound pathetic," Roger groaned. "It's got to be more than that…"

"Actually it is quite admirable," Dorothy retorted. "By finding a positive way to exercise your masculinity, you don't have to justify yourself. You're capable of thinking clearly and controlling your decisions. You should be commended. You found something that works that makes you a positive influence on those around you. How many people can say that?"

"You're making me blush," Roger smiled. "How about you? Have you found a way to balance being a woman and being an android?"

"It's been challenge," Dorothy admitted. "I don't know what it means to be either one. I just have to experiment and hope for the best."

"Any experiments running now?" Roger asked in a flippant tone.

"Yes," She said. "Am I capable of love? Despite having the hardware, do I have the software? Do I have the… soul that is required to be a good lover or am I just a toy? Do I have feelings?"

"Did you say you have the hardware?" Roger blinked.

"You are such a louse Roger Smith." Dorothy's calm monotone was perfect for conveying disgust. "But I might as well take advantage of it. Would you kiss me?"

"Kiss you?" Roger asked. "What for?"

"To see if it awakens any feelings in me," Dorothy replied. "Even embarrassment would tell me something."

"Well, I don't know…" Roger stammered before Dorothy embraced him and seized his mouth with hers.

"Roger!" A woman's voice cried. Roger tore himself away from Dorothy to see Angel in his dining room pointing an automatic pistol at him. "So it _is_ true!" she snarled. "You turned me down for a machine! I'll show you!"

"Angel! Wait…!" his protest was silenced by a gunshot.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next:_ _Tomato in the Mirror _


	5. Tomato in the Mirror

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Five: Tomato in the Mirror_

Roger woke up and sat up in his bed. What just happened? Where was he? He was home, in bed, and wide awake. It was just a dream! Another crazy dream. He would have to watch what he ate before going to bed. It was seven o'clock in the morning. Seven o'clock? What was he doing up this early? He didn't hear a piano. No alarm went off. Did he have an appointment or something?

As long as he was awake and his head was clear, he might as well get up. He brushed his teeth, took a shower, and dressed. He wasn't feeling hungry so he decided to get some work done before breakfast.

"Good morning sir," Norman smiled as he looked up from his dusting.

"Good morning, Norman?" Roger scratched his head and looked around as he sat at his desk. "Do I have any appointments today?"

"I believe you have an appointment with a Mister Hudson Strange this morning," the elderly butler informed him. "Unless anything has changed in the meantime?"

Roger sat at his desk and pulled out his appointment book. "Okay. I guess I'll work on balancing the books until it's time for breakfast," the negotiator said.

"Very good sir," Norman nodded.

* * *

><p>Roger balanced his checkbook before he got bored. He walked back up to his upstairs parlor and looked at the piano, the grand piano that Dorothy used to wake him up almost every morning. He had beaten her to it today. Why did he even have this thing? When was the last time he had actually played the piano?<p>

On a whim, he sat down and played 'Chopsticks' before making a stab at 'The Entertainer'. The nice thing about 'The Entertainer' was that it didn't matter if you got the timing wrong, the ragtime song still worked.

"Please Roger, if you're going to play the piano, don't butcher the song," Dorothy's voice scolded.

Roger laughed before he looked up from the keys. "You don't have to get jealous, Dorothy, I'm not going to hog your precious piano. I… what?"

"What?" Dorothy asked. Her normally immaculate hair was askew. She was dressed in a white bathrobe and bunny slippers. She wasn't wearing her barrette and there was no strip of metal on her bangs either. "Is something wrong?" She looked down to make sure her robe was closed.

"I've never seen you in your bathrobe before Dorothy," Roger said.

"You need to pay attention more," she yawned as she shuffled out of the room.

Since when does Dorothy yawn? Roger thought. She's acting as if she hasn't woke up yet. I didn't know she had to _sleep_!

* * *

><p>Breakfast was strange and kept getting stranger.<p>

"It's not polite to stare, Roger Smith," the bathrobed Dorothy scolded as she looked up from her food.

Roger noticed her pour a generous amount of syrup on her pancakes. "Do you have to use that much syrup?" he asked.

"They're too dry without it and besides I like the taste," she shrugged.

"Since when can you taste?" Roger asked.

"I've got better taste than you do but I suppose that's only to be expected," she sniffed in disdain. "Aren't you going to eat your pancakes? They'll get cold."

Roger nodded grimly before tasting his food. He couldn't taste anything. Dorothy was right. They needed syrup. He poured a generous helping on his pancakes then took another bite. Sticky and messy but still no flavor. "Is there something wrong with this syrup?" he asked as he looked at the label. "Darn artificial syrup. They're rationing everything these days."

"No the syrup seems fine," Dorothy assured him.

He took a bite of some bacon. Still no flavor, but he could feel the texture. Without any flavor the bacon was just a chewy piece of gristle.

"So… Roger," Dorothy said in a breezy tone of voice. "Have you changed your mind about speaking at my school? I think my class would get a kick getting a visit from the great Roger Smith, and I think that Beth has a crush on you."

"School?" Roger frowned. "What are you talking about? You don't go to school."

"You don't pay attention to my life at all, do you Roger Smith?" she frowned. "Sometime I think you don't even listen to me. You don't have a heart at all. You've just got oil flowing in those veins."

"That's rich, coming from an android," Roger scoffed.

"It sure is," Dorothy nodded. "I would think that an android would have a better memory than you do. When Doctor Smith built you, he built you too well."

"Excuse me?" Roger frowned. "Doctor Smith? Who's he?"

"Is this some kind of android joke?" Dorothy gave him a blank look. "Doctor Smith. Your creator. He built you in his son's image."

"You're talking nonsense, I'm not an android," Roger scoffed. "_You're_ the android, Dorothy not me."

"Since when?" Dorothy gave him a strange look. "I'm not an android. You are. You're just the most lifelike one I've ever seen, that's all."

Roger laughed derisively. "You're pulling my leg."

"See?" Dorothy smiled. "You can even laugh. Doctor Smith was certainly a craftsman. You have to admit that you are exceptionally well built. Right down to the smallest detail," she winked. "You certainly are too good to be true alright."

"R Dorothy Wayneright, are you flirting with me?" Roger's eyes widened.

"'R Dorothy'?" the girl smiled. "Maybe you're flirting with me. I had no idea you were capable of having such feelings R Roger Smith!" Dorothy's smile was teasing. She playfully put her elbow up on the table and rested her chin in her hand.

"_R_ Roger Smith?" Roger gasped. "You must be joking. I'm a human being!"

"If only you were," Dorothy sighed wistfully, "but I don't mind. If you were human you'd have a different girl over every night but this way I have you all to myself."

"I _am_ human!" Roger insisted.

"Roger I didn't mean to imply that being an android makes you inferior in some way," Dorothy apologized. "On the contrary, it must be frustrating being surrounded by all of us fallible human beings all the time. It's a good thing you _are_ an android or we would drive you crazy…"

"I'm not an android!" Roger growled. "Stop saying that!"

"Stop saying what?" Dorothy blinked.

"That I'm an android!" Roger snapped. "It's preposterous!"

"But you are an android," said the confused girl.

"No I'm not!" He tossed his fork on the table in frustration.

"Roger, are you all right?" Dorothy asked meekly. "Maybe Norman should check you over. You're talking crazy."

"_You're_ the one who's talking crazy!" Roger insisted. "I'm not an android; you are!"

"R Roger Smith, are you trying to frighten me?" Dorothy got up and put her hands on her hips. "If this is a joke, it's not funny!"

Roger looked at Dorothy, really looked at her. She wasn't wearing her barrette. She was moving perfectly normal, not the too-fluid movements he was used to. She certainly seemed expressive today. Was that concern in her eyes, with just a little bit of fear? "Norman!" he bellowed.

"Yes sir?" the elderly butler responded so quickly he must have been waiting just out the door or something. "Can I help you Master Roger?"

"Dorothy seems to be confused about which one of us is the android," Roger said as he pointed at the teenage girl.

"Indeed, sir?" Norman nodded. "And what makes her say she's an android?"

"She's not saying that _she's_ an android, Norman!" Roger glowered. "She's saying that _I'm _the android!"

"Well I'm glad that's all sorted out," Norman said has he started picking up the dirty plates. "It's not nice to fool with people's heads, Miss Dorothy…"

"Norman!" Roger rolled his eyes in frustration. "Weren't you listening? She's saying that _I'm_ the android!"

Norman gave him a blank look. "And?"

"_I'm_ not an android!" Roger growled. "_She_ is!"

"Since when?" Norman gave a puzzled frown.

"Since always!" Roger insisted. "She's been an android for as long as we've known her! She's always been an android!"

"Then who was Timothy Wayneright's daughter?" Norman asked.

"Timothy Wayneright's daughter died!" explained an exasperated Roger. "The original Dorothy Wayneright died and the old man built an android duplicate to replace her!"

"Dorothy Wayneright is… dead sir?" Norman gasped.

"Yes!"

"My word!" gasped a staggered Norman Burg. "She seemed so healthy yesterday!"

"She's been dead for decades!" Roger growled. "Look you can tell that Dorothy's an android, you can't find a pulse. He crossed to Dorothy's side of the table and seized her wrist. Dorothy's pulse was going a mile a minute. "Whoa!" Roger let go of her and jumped backwards.

"Sir?" Norman asked.

"She's got a pulse!" Roger babbled. "Norman, she's got a pulse! She's human!"

"All's well that ends well then," the butler smiled indulgently.

"No don't you understand?" Roger said. "She's alive! She's human!"

"She was the last time I checked sir," Norman nodded.

"How is this possible?" Roger put his fingertips to his temples. "Has the entire world gone mad?"

"Not the _entire_ world, no," Norman replied.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Roger growled.

"Are you sure you're not malfunctioning sir?" Norman asked him. "I could run a diagnostic on your systems if you like."

"'Run a diagnostic on my systems'?" Roger repeated in disbelief. "Have you gone crazy? I'm not a machine!"

"Please Roger, you're scaring me!" Dorothy stammered.

Roger looked at the disbelieving looks on both Norman and Dorothy. It was obvious from the looks on their faces that _he_ was the one who was crazy. "I'm going to check something out," he said as he went into the kitchen. He went to the knife block on the counter and pulled out a bowie knife. "I'm going to cut my finger and see whether or not I bleed," he muttered as he tried to work up the willpower to actually cut himself.

"Roger, don't damage yourself," Dorothy scolded as she and Norman followed him into the kitchen. "If you damage your skin Norman will have to replace it." She froze in midstep when she saw the look of horror on Roger's face.

That did it. Roger ran the blade across his thumb. Nothing. He'd have to sharpen this knife. He pressed harder and it finally bit into the skin but encountered resistance. He looked at his thumb. No blood, despite the gash he cut into it.

"No way…" he whispered. He dropped the knife and ran out of the kitchen. He dashed into the bathroom and stood in front of the mirror pulling on his face. His fingers poked and prodded until he found what he was looking for. A tiny stud hidden under the skin at his temple. When he pushed it, a rectangular piece of his forehead slid out to reveal it was some kind of DVD tray.

"I'm… I'm… I'm an android!" he choked as he staggered backwards away from the mirror. A conveyor belt of metal skeletons moved into a rectangular machine while a second belt of Roger Smiths moved out.

"Roger," Dorothy said from the bathroom door. "It's not the end of the world just because you're an android. You're Roger Smith, the negotiator, and nobody can take that away from you. Just be who you are…"

"Easy for you to say!" he cried as the DVD tray in his head closed. "_You're_ human!"

"Yes I am, you heartless machine!" she clenched her fists and stamped her foot. "Why else do you think I care?"

"I'm not who I think I am!" he gestured at the deceptive mirror that could only reveal appearances, not the truth. "I'm not human! My entire life is a lie!"

"Is it really?" Dorothy put her hands on her hips and stood ramrod straight in a futile attempt to match his height. She looked especially small and fragile now. "Are you saying that all the people you've helped, all the enemies you've defeated, all the negotiations you completed are all just lies?"

"I don't even know if they're real anymore!" Roger whined. "How do I know that any of my accomplishments are real? I'm _not_ Roger Smith!"

"Yes you are!" Dorothy shouted. "You can be anybody you choose to be!"

"I want to be me!" Roger cried as his fist shattered the bathroom mirror into countless fragments. Dorothy yelped and covered her eyes. Roger stared at his hand. There was no pain. His hand wasn't bleeding. Aside of where he cut his thumb there wasn't even a mark.

"You're not just a machine," Dorothy told him. "Only a human being do something so pointless."

"What… am I going to do?" Roger asked in a quiet voice.

"You're going to adjust and go on," Dorothy replied as she tried to keep her knees from shaking. "I don't know what happened to your memory Roger but I've never seen you this lifelike. Maybe this isn't a malfunction. Maybe Doctor Smith meant for your brain to keep developing until for all intents a purposes you become a human being in a metal body."

"How… did the original Roger Smith die?" Roger's voice was a hoarse whisper.

"I don't know," Dorothy admitted. "You never told me. I don't think you knew yourself. It happened a long time ago."

"I need a drink," Roger said. "No wait. It won't do me any good anyway will it?" He walked out of the bathroom and brushed past Dorothy.

"Where are you going?" Dorothy asked.

"Out!"

* * *

><p>Roger's car pulled up to the working class bar known as the Speakeasy. He got out of the car and pushed a button on a tiny remote and a jack lifted the car was an armored cocoon formed around it. He was about to go into the bar when he encountered a familiar face. Standing between Roger and the doors to the bar was a tall blond skinny man in a loud canary colored suit. "Beck!" he growled.<p>

"Hiya Tin Man," Beck winked. "Long time no see. Going up." He pointed with his thumb and Roger was pulled off his feet to find himself stuck to a giant electromagnet that was dangling on the edge of a crane. "Gotcha Roger!" Beck smiled. "You're memory core is going to get my megadeus operational! In the meantime I've got something for ya." He held out a yellow tiara that was composed of electronic components. "This should make you easier to handle! Now you'll do what _I_ say!" He giggled childishly.

"Beck!" Roger gasped as the blond crook opened his drive tray.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Roger the Officer_


	6. Roger the Officer

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network. _

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Six: Roger the Officer_

Black smoke clogged Roger's lungs as his senses returned to him in bits and pieces. He couldn't hear anything, just a dull roar like the sound of distant thunder slowed down to half speed. A small slender body pulled itself off him, and a dainty hand took his. He was lying down on a hard surface, and the aches and pains on his body told him that he hadn't lain down voluntarily.

He opened his eyes and saw Dorothy crouched over him. It was daylight. They were in a warehouse or hanger of some kind, and most of the roof was missing. Dorothy was wearing a short sleeved green sundress with a narrow waist and a wide pleated knee-high skirt. A white collar matched the white cuffs on her short sleeves. Two large white buttons were centered on the blouse but the other four were on the skirt that formed a line down her front. Her pale lavender white shoes were the same color as the headband that covered her bangs. The dress gave her an innocent girlish look while at the same time emphasizing her femininity, but it was torn and singed. Her normally immaculate hair was a mess and her face was dirty. She was talking but Roger couldn't hear her.

Roger tried to say something.

The dull roar vanished to be replaced by the tinkling sound of rubble falling intermittently from what was left of the roof. "Are you alright?" Dorothy asked him.

"Yeah. Thanks Dorothy," Roger pulled himself to his feet and looked around. They were at one of the abandoned hangars on the outskirts of town and the place was crawling with military police. Angel was there also and she was arguing with Major Dastun. She was in a black raincoat pulled over a pink blouse. Black stockings and black boots were visible under her raincoat, so she must have been wearing a skirt.

"This is _your_ fault Major!" Angel growled. "If you and your goosestepping morons hadn't charged in here, Beck never would have set off the bomb! It's a miracle we weren't killed!"

"Now listen to me Miss Hotshot Negotiator!" Datsun snarled back. Dan Dastun was a man around fifty who sported muttonchops and a black horseshoe mustache. His hat hid a bald head crisscrossed with a network of scars. "That bomb was planted in Miguel Soldano's car! The bomb wasn't detonated to cover the kidnapper's escape; it was placed there to murder Soldano! And probably you and his daughter too! If you and Soldano would have come to us in the first place…!"

"Sir?" A young military policeman said as he handed a dazed Roger Smith a standard issue officer's hat. "You dropped this during the explosion, Captain."

"What?" Roger took the hat and examined himself. He was wearing a military policeman's uniform, just like Dastun! But he had quit the service years ago!

"Soldano!" Angel cried. "He was closest to the car when it went off! Is he…?"

"_Miguel_ Soldano?" Roger jogged over to an old man in a striped business suit who was lying on the ground as two military police officers tried to stop his bleeding.

"I didn't want to build it… for people like them," the old man wheezed.

"What?" Angel said as she crouched next to him. "_What_ did you build?"

"An ambulance is on its way," a young officer informed Dastun as Dorothy walked over to stand behind Roger.

Soldano's eyes widened as Dorothy entered his field of vision. "D-Dorothy! The second one! Forgive me… _You're_ the one who's my _real_ daughter…"

"He assembled me using blueprints nothing more," Dorothy said coldly. "It's just the deranged ranting of a dying man."

"How can you be so heartless?" Angel snapped. "Can't you see he's hurt?"

"It's alright… Nightengale…" Those were Miguel Soldano's last words.

Angel closed the old man's eyes then bowed her head while clasping her hands.

"What are you doing?" Dorothy asked. "Praying?"

"I don't expect you to understand," Angel grunted, "but how about a little respect?"

"I can't believe any of this is happening," Roger shook his head.

"I don't blame you," Dastun nodded. "You're lucky Miss Soldano tackled you when she did or you might be lying there with him. How do you feel Roger?"

"Confused," Roger said. "What happened? What's going on?"

"That's what we're going to find out," Dastun said. "Take the ladies back to headquarters and get their statements. In the meantime I'm going to wait for the coroner and the forensics team. While you're back at HQ you better have the docs look you over. You and Miss Soldano were closer to the explosion than any of us. You don't know what being that close to the blast did to you."

"My car," Angel moaned as she examined a pink sedan that was parked in the hangar near Soldano's smoking ruin. "Look at the windshield, it's ruined!"

Roger looked around at the military police cars in the hanger. Which one was his? He decided to take the one that Dorothy was waiting by. "How can…?" He paused to examine his uniform again. "I'm a captain in the military police," he mumbled.

"Well la dee da," Angel sneered. "Are you going to send someone to tow my car?"

Roger blinked. Angel was standing right in front of him expecting a response. "Uh… no… but I _will_ give you a ride back to town," he smiled sheepishly and tipped his hat. Even when his world was topsy-turvy it still paid to be a gentleman after all.

* * *

><p>He was tempted to drive home but suspected he didn't live there anymore. Was he dreaming? Or was this reality? Or had Angel reset the world and this was reality now? He decided that he better play along or he'd find himself in a room with padded walls and a box of crayons. . To keep things simple, Roger took them to military police headquarters as Dastun ordered.<p>

"So uh… Angel," he said to the beautiful woman sitting next to him in the passenger seat. "What is it you do exactly?"

"I'm a professional negotiator," the gorgeous blonde announced. "I perform a much needed job in this city of amnesia."

"A negotiator, huh? And does Miss Wayneright live with you?" Roger asked indicating the silent redhead in the back seat.

"Who's Miss Wayneright?" Angel frowned.

"Uh… I meant Miss Soldano," Roger corrected himself. "Do you live with her?"

"No today is the first time we met," Angel shrugged. "I was hired to negotiate with her kidnappers. It went off without a hitch… until you showed up."

"Yeah sorry about that," Roger mumbled. "Do you think Dastun was right? If the bomb _was_ placed in Miguel Soldano's car it could be that the kidnappers didn't want to leave anybody alive who could identify them. If we hadn't showed up when we did would the three of you have been standing near the car when the bomb blew?"

"Um… yeah," Angel looked away. "It's actually pretty likely. Dorothy would have been in the car while Soldano and I concluded our business. You're right. When your squad burst in we ran away from the car and ducked and covered. I suppose we owe you our lives, Captain."

"Roger Smith," Roger smiled as they pulled into the military police's parking garage. "Let's see if we can find my office, shall we?"

* * *

><p>Military Police headquarters hadn't changed much. It was still controlled pandemonium just like he remembered it. They loitered in the front lobby before inspiration hit him. "Soldier," he gestured to a young enlisted man. "Take these two ladies to my office will you? I have to make a phone call."<p>

"Certainly Captain," the young soldier nodded.

Roger made his way to a phone booth and cut to the head of the line despite the protests of the citizens who were waiting for their one phone call. He dialed a familiar number and waited for someone to pick up. "Hello," a voice that he recognized as Norman's said over the line. "Miss Kyle's residence. This is Norman Burg speaking. How may I help you?"

"Miss Kyle?" Roger frowned. "Who's that? Isn't this Roger Smith's house?"

"I'm afraid you have the wrong number sir," Norman's voice chided him. "Good day." The click over the line told Roger that the butler had hung up.

Roger opened his wallet and checked his driver's license. His badge didn't look like it belonged there but the address on his ID was familiar. "The same apartment I rented before I quit the service," Roger grunted. "I should have known."

He wandered military police headquarters until he found the office that Angel and Dorothy waiting in. He smiled. That office had to be his. He had managed to avoid asking his fellow officers where he worked. "Sorry to keep you waiting," he said was he walked in and pulled some forms out of the desk. "It's been a strange day. So what name do you go by Miss…" he looked in Angel's direction.

"Kyle," the blonde replied as she handed him a card. "Celina Kyle."

"So _you're_ Miss Kyle," Roger smiled knowingly. He glanced at her business card. Her address and phone number was the same as that of Roger the Negotiator. "You don't mind if I call you 'Angel' do you?"

Angel raised an eyebrow. "If you want to be condescending, go ahead."

"Alright, I need a statement from both of you," Roger said as he handed them clipboards with paper. "Let's see if I got this straight. Jason Beck kidnapped Dorothy Soldano and ransomed her back to her father, only to pull a double-cross and try to kill anyone who knew about the kidnapping. Is that about right?"

"I had no idea the military police were so well informed." Angel murmured. "Have you been running surveillance or something?"

"That's nothing," Roger winked. "Watch this. Miss Soldano?" he said addressing Dorothy. "Your adoptive father was building a robot big enough to be classified as a megadeus. I have reason to believe that Jason Beck may have stolen it. Do you have any idea where he might be keeping it?"

"No I don't," Dorothy said. "He had a large factory outside the domes. Have you tried there?"

"I'll send some cars over," Roger nodded. "In the meantime, do you know Timothy Wayneright's address?"

"No I don't," Dorothy replied. "Is he involved somehow?

"It's possible that he was the engineer that designed both the megadeus and uh… you," Roger said awkwardly. "Dorothy, I think he's your father. He drew up your blueprints; I'll be surprised if he didn't build you in his lab. If he designed the megadeus then his life is in danger. He knows too much. I think I could find his house by memory but I've forgotten the address."

"I can't help you," Dorothy said.

"That's alright, I'm just following a lead," Roger shrugged. "If I'm right, Beck is planning to rob the mint under the bank in West Dome Number Five. If I'm not… well… you got any place to stay Miss Wayneright?"

"Soldano," she corrected.

"Yes! Yes!" Roger nodded. "Of course. Miss Soldano. Tell you what. After the two of you finish filling out those affidavits I'll take Miss Kyle home. Then you and I can pay a visit to Timothy Wayneright. In the meantime I've got to contact my superior and let him know that he's looking for Jason Beck and a rogue megadeus. Excuse me." Roger went to dispatch and made a call.

"Dastun here," his superior's gravelly voice barked over the radio. "What have you got, Roger?"

"Dastun, you better write this down," Roger said into the microphone. "It looks like Miguel Soldano was building a megadeus and that a man named Jason Beck ripped it off…"

"A megadeus?" Dastun repeated. "Captain Smith, did you say 'a megadeus'?"

"Ten-four on that," Roger said. "Jason Beck the name of a small time crook. I think he's gotten ahold of a megadeus and is planning to rob the mint under the bank in West Dome Number Five. That ransom deal must have been so he could buy fuel or something. I'm going to see if I can find the guy who designed it and so he can tell us if it's got any weaknesses. I'll call you back as soon as I can."

"This just keeps getting better and better," Dastun's voice grunted. "Ten-four, Roger. Watch your back."

* * *

><p>Soon Roger, Angel and Dorothy were back in the police car. "I'll drop you off first Angel. Unless you'd like to visit Doctor Wayneright with us?"<p>

"Inviting a civilian along on your cops-and-robbers game Roger Smith?" Angel teased. "I thought you military police types wanted us civilians to butt out of things like this."

"If I try to cut you out, you'd just get involved again anyway," Roger shrugged. "This way I can keep an eye on you and make sure you don't get hurt."

Their conversation was interrupted by an announcement over the police band radio. "Attention all units! There is a giant robot attacking West Dome Number Five! All units respond immediately!"

"Looks like we're too late," Roger grunted as he drove to the freeway. "If I dropped you off at home would you go to the West Dome anyway?"

"Probably," Angel shrugged.

"That's what I thought," Roger nodded. "Hang on," he said as he turned on the siren. "This could be a bumpy ride."

* * *

><p>When they entered the dome they witnessed a sight familiar to Roger. In the golden light of the artificial sunlight of West Dome Number Five the crimson megadeus Roger called 'Dorothy One' was thundering down the street. The military police were cordoning off the area and trying to get their howitzers in position. Dorothy One was a fifty foot tall anthropomorphic lobster with a face shaped like a crescent moon. It crouched in front of the bank and opened its claws. Huge metal tentacles extended out of the claws and tore through the bank's front doors.<p>

"We're too late," Roger grunted as they got out of the car. "Beck is remote controlling that thing from somewhere around here. He's probably in a van in a parking garage someplace. Stay next to Dorothy and I'll see if I can…"

He stopped as he noticed Angel speaking into her wristwatch. "Okay Big Venus. It's Showtime," she murmured before she dashed away.

"I should have known." Roger let out a sigh and looked at his wrist. The watch under his glove wasn't one he remembered, just an ordinary wristwatch you could buy at a store. He slumped and leaned against the police car in resignation.

The ground started shaking before the street burst open to reveal a humungous gray and white robot. This new megadeus was an ungainly metal giant towering over fifty feet tall. Two vaguely humanoid legs supported its barrel shaped body. The enormous arms of the megadeus were in reality massive piledrivers with huge mechanical hands instead of chisels. The head of the megadeus was an eerie helmeted skull that was dwarfed by the megadeus' huge body. Great metal wings extended from its back.

Through the dust kicked up by its appearance Roger could make out its massive hands carrying a tiny figure up to its cockpit. Angel was taking charge. Oh well. If he wasn't the domineus it might as well be her. Upperbody strength didn't mean a lot when you drove a megadeus he supposed. Didn't Gordon Rosewater say that neither Roger nor Angel were one of his beloved tomatoes? If that was true… Hey, where the hell was Dorothy going?

As the two colossal metal giants battled Dorothy Soldano was running towards the fighting megadeuses rather than away from them. What was she playing at? Then Roger remembered. At the end of Roger's version of the fight Dorothy had been so close to the action she was almost flattened. He had to stop her!

"Dorothy!" he shouted as he ran after her. "Stay back! It's too dangerous! You'll be crushed! Get out of the way!"

"So long Sweetheart!" Angel smirked from Big Venus' cockpit. The grey megadeus' mighty piston pieced Dorothy One's body and sent flaming debris out the other side. Angel's smile vanished when she glanced at a circular screen. "Roger and Dorothy!" she gasped. "What are they doing there?" They were directly in the path of the falling megadeus! "Move you idiots! Get out of there!"

"Dorothy! Let's go! Come on! Snap out of it! We've got to go!" Roger pleaded as he put his arms around the android girl. No dice. She was a statue. She didn't even flex enough to make it easier to lift her two hundred and seventy eight pound body. The smart thing to do would be to leave her but no one ever accused Roger of being smart. "Just be who you are!" he grunted as he pulled her over his shoulder just before Dorothy One came crashing down on them.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: The Emotional Android _


	7. The Emotional Android

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Seven: The Emotional Android_

Roger woke up and heard the sound of a woman crying. Her sobs came in short gasps punctuated by longer whines. She sounded hysterical.

Roger staggered out of bed to discover that he was back in his bedroom. He wasn't dead. He wasn't taken apart by Beck. He wasn't on the beach or in the orphanage where he spent his childhood. He was home. And he was probably going to have bourbon for breakfast at this rate.

In any case there was a hysterical woman on the premises. Norman had let her in without his permission, so this meant there was an attractive young lady who was pouring her eyes out nearby. Roger had left instructions that only attractive young women had unconditional access to his house, but what was Norman thinking taking her to the top floor where Roger's bedroom was? He wasn't even dressed!

Roger ran a comb through his hair and dressed quickly. The good part about always wearing black was that it was easy to accessorize. No tie and jacket today. Black socks, black boots, black pants, and black t shirt under a black sweater would have to do for right now, he had to get out and greet his guest in a hurry.

* * *

><p>When Roger entered the upstairs parlor he wasn't ready for what he saw. "Dorothy! Are you all right?"<p>

"Ruh-uh Roger!" Dorothy wiped her eyes with her sleeve and staggered to her feet. "W-what's happening to me? Why am I crying?"

"Dorothy are you okay?" Roger walked over and hugged her. "I don't believe it! Tears! Real tears! Well they look like real tears…"

Dorothy howled and buried her face in his chest. This was the reason Roger chose the sweater over the leather jacket. Tears won't ruin the sweater, but would whatever clear fluid that was coming out of her eyes leave spots?

"I'm sorry," Roger murmured as he hugged her and patted her shoulder. "I'm so sorry. They're real tears. It's okay."

"It's not okay!" Dorothy cried. "Why am I crying? Why am I yelling? Why am I gasping for breath even though I don't need to breathe? Why is my internal temperature fluctuating? Are you doing this on purpose? I don't understand!"

"I'll find Norman," Roger murmured. "We'll run a diagnostic. If it's a malfunction we'll fix it. It's going to be all right."

"Why are you dreaming about me crying?" Dorothy sniveled.

"It's going to be okay Dorothy," Roger kept his voice calm, for Dorothy wasn't making sense. "Are you upset about something? Did something make you sad?"

"No," Dorothy shook her head. "Nothing out of the ordinary. I always feel this way, just not so intense. S-so this is what it feels like to be human."

"_Are_ you human, Dorothy?" Roger's body tensed in her embrace.

"No," she shook her head, "but you are."

"You're not making any sense," Roger frowned.

"I'm shivering," Dorothy said. "Why am I shivering? Why are you doing this? Are you afraid of something Roger Smith?"

"No, but I _am_ concerned about you," he said. "Are _you_ afraid?"

"Yes," she admitted. "I'm afraid all the time."

"All the time?" Roger frowned.

"Yes. All the time," she nodded, "but it usually doesn't show."

"What are you afraid of?" Roger asked.

A sad giggle escaped her lips. Her eyes widened. "My first laugh."

"Yeah," Roger said out loud. Creepy, he thought _really_ quietly.

"I had hoped my first laugh would be under more joyous circumstances," she said in a voice that sounded more like the Dorothy he knew. Either whatever happened to her was wearing off or Dorothy had cried herself out and was numb.

Roger let go of the girl so he could look at her. "You're afraid all the time?"

"I suppose so," she said as she wiped her face with a handkerchief. "I assume it's fear. I perceive it as a distressing negative sensation induced by a threat. I use it to recognize danger and react accordingly."

"That sounds like fear all right," Roger nodded.

"I don't understand," Dorothy insisted. "I'm afraid all the time, but I don't act like this. Why am I shivering? It doesn't make sense. Is this how you see me?"

"What are you afraid of?" Roger asked again.

The disbelieving frown she gave Roger was strangely reassuring to him. "Would you like the list?" she asked sarcastically.

"Sorry," Roger scratched the back of his neck and looked away as he remembered all the horrible things that had happened to Dorothy on his watch. "You always seemed so brave."

"My body never reacted to fear before," the girl explained in her familiar monotone, "but yours does, doesn't it Roger? It's like I'm experiencing multiple malfunctions at once. So this is what it feels like to be human. How do you stand it?"

"You train yourself," Roger reassured her. "You discipline yourself. If you make the cut you can join the military police and _they'll_ train you to be brave. Dorothy, I don't understand. You always seemed so disciplined."

"I'll manage," she said stoically. She studied her surroundings as if seeing them for the first time. Finally she spoke. "I don't understand. Everything seems so normal. I thought you were having nightmares."

"Hey I just thought of something," Roger offered. "Maybe this isn't a malfunction. What if you're still developing? Maybe when your android brain reaches a certain level of sophistication it unlocks previously unknown capabilities, like the ability to feel emotions or something? This could be the beginning of a whole new phase of your life Dorothy." That sounded familiar. Where had he heard that before?

Dorothy gave him a disappointed look. "Don't talk nonsense, Roger Smith. I've figured out what's wrong with me and I should've expected it."

Roger refused to give up. "You seem okay, but let's let Norman take a look at you to make sure you're all right. Maybe this is a blessing in disguise."

"I'm fine," she assured him. "Don't worry about it. I've figured out what's wrong with me. It's nothing to get concerned about. Let's talk about you."

* * *

><p>Breakfast was… different. Roger didn't hide behind his newspaper. He preferred to stare slackjawed at Dorothy Wayneright.<p>

Dorothy was crying again. Off and on. She tried to stop herself but it was like watching someone trying to stifle a sneeze. Her eyes would get puffy. She would blow her nose. Her lips would tremble and a quiet sob would escape.

"Want to talk about it?" Roger asked.

"There's nothing to talk about Roger Smith," she retorted. "I'll manage. You're less tortured than I expected. Are you all right?"

"What do you mean?" Roger frowned.

"Y-you've been having nightmares," Dorothy's voice cracked but she kept going. "L-lots of them. F-for hours at a time. Then you get quiet and it looks like you're dead. And then you get nightmares again. This has been going on for some time. And you never wake up. Are you all right Roger? N-Norman is getting worried about you."

"My sleep stinks, but I really think that your problem is a lot more pressing," Roger said. "Come on, Dorothy, something's got you really upset. What is it? You look like you're about to cry again."

"Don't worry about it," she said sadly. The poor girl looked miserable. This was way beyond her normal dour expression. She looked like her little gray kitten just got ran over by a car. "This is only temporary. I'll be fine once I'm out of your head."

"Dorothy, I can't help worrying about you…" he began, but she cut him off.

"I don't need your pity," she hissed. There was an awkward pause and she looked away. "I apologize. That was an emotional reaction. You were simply reaching out to comfort me. It wasn't your fault."

"Care to talk about it?" Roger asked.

"No. It will only upset you," she replied.

"Sometimes it helps to talk about it," Roger smiled disarmingly. "There's no need to be embarrassed Dorothy. I'm a mess myself. I've barely slept at all and when I do I get nightmares. We can get through this together, what do you say?"

"My problems would only depress you Roger," Dorothy said with a hint of finality. "Let's talk about you. How are you? What have you been dreaming about?"

"Dorothy my problems can wait," Roger frowned. "I think that yours are more serious. Look at you. You look like you want to start crying again."

"I always feel like crying," Dorothy hissed in a scratchy voice. "It doesn't matter."

"You always feel like crying?" Roger repeated in horror. "Really? How come?"

Dorothy's body trembled as she hid her face in her hands. Her breaths came in long gasping sobs. "I'm… sorry…" she croaked. "I d-don't want to make things worse…"

Roger sprang from his side of the table to put his comforting hands on her shoulders. "Dorothy, it's okay. I didn't mean to upset you. I just want to help…"

She looked at him with red puffy eyes. "Very well," she said in a hoarse miserable voice. "Maybe if I let you console me it will help boost your self-esteem."

The hairs rose on the back of Roger's neck. Even when she was upset she was still so cold and analytical. "So uh… what's wrong Dorothy?"

"I'll tell you when you wake up," she said miserably. "It isn't your fault."

"Dorothy, I'm already awake," he said. "What isn't my fault?"

"You're too close to it, it will only upset you," she croaked. "Let's talk about something else, something you won't blame yourself for."

"Okay, let's start with that," Roger nodded.

"My father died because I frightened the man who held him at gunpoint," Dorothy whispered. "If I would have just gone along with them…" she coughed out a painful sob and wiped her face.

"That wasn't your fault," Roger insisted.

"Yes it was!" she gasped. "Y-you t-tried to warn me," she sniveled. "You t-told me not to… b-but I didn't listen… I-if I would've m-my father would still be alive…" They hugged as Dorothy silently cried on his shoulder for a moment. Dorothy pushed him away and got up from the table. "I don't think this is helping."

"Sure it is," Roger patted her shoulder. "You got to get this out of your system before you can feel better. You got to grieve that's all. Let me help you."

Dorothy looked at him. "All right. I'll let you help me if you let me help you."

"Deal." The word popped out of Roger's mouth before he could stop it, but he smiled confidently and made it look like that's what he meant to say.

* * *

><p>They left the dining room and found themselves in the ground floor lounge sitting in two divans facing each other.<p>

"So. What are you having nightmares about?" Dorothy asked from her couch.

"Excuse me?" Roger blinked. "I thought we were going to help _you_ first."

"It's give and take," Dorothy said. "I shared my issue with my father. Now you share something. Let's start with your nightmares."

"I uh… well they're nothing new," Roger stammered. "Why do you _always_ feel like crying? What's wrong? Is something _always_ bothering you?"

"It's nothing new," she said. "I always feel that way. Tell me about your dreams." When Roger pulled at his collar she added. "Are any about me?"

Roger blushed and Dorothy's emotionless façade was marred by a small smile. Roger raised an eyebrow. "Why won't you let me look at your blueprints?" he asked pointblank. Dorothy sucked in a breath and blushed. Her eyes were guilty. "So, you can't hide your emotions the way you used to," Roger grinned slyly. "I think that I could get used to this new Dorothy."

"You really are such a louse Roger Smith," Dorothy muttered testily.

"This is getting us nowhere," Roger sighed. "We have to learn to open up."

"Can you remember your dreams when you wake up?" Dorothy asked him.

"Not most of the time, no," Roger shrugged. "Sometimes I can remember parts of them, if they were really vivid dreams."

"Am I in any of them?" Dorothy asked hopefully.

"Yes," Roger said carefully. "You figure prominently in several of them."

"Tell me about them." There was a hint of longing in her voice.

"I ah…" he rubbed the back of his neck. "It's kind of embarrassing."

"It's all right," Dorothy said quickly. "It's nice to know that you're thinking of me."

They were both blushing and trying to hide embarrassed smiles before Dorothy abruptly frowned. "So what's wrong?" she asked him.

"What?" he blinked.

"What's wrong?" Dorothy repeated. "You've been having nightmares and I've been in your dreams. I had no idea I was so hard to live with Roger Smith."

"Oh uh… you know," Roger stammered. "Bad things happen to you. I guess I never got over the time Beck stole your memory drive."

"So you're afraid of losing me?" Dorothy asked.

"Yeah I guess so," Roger looked away.

"You _guess_ so?" Dorothy's scowl wasn't subtle. Perhaps the old stone faced Dorothy had something going for her after all.

"I mean yes, of course!" Roger corrected himself. "It's embarrassing, but I get nightmares where you're taken away from me. It's weird. Every time we get a moment together where we bare our souls to each other something horrible always happens. I can't understand it."

"Perhaps you have commitment issues," Dorothy suggested.

"I do _not_ have commitment issues," Roger frowned.

"Yes you do," Dorothy said as calmly as if she was discussing the weather. "It's the reason you wear black. You lost somebody important to you and now you won't allow yourself to get close to anyone. It's safer to remain alone than risk getting hurt again."

"Thank you Doctor Psycho-droid," Roger huffed sarcastically. "If you've figured everything out who was it? My mom? My dad? Girlfriend? Wife? Fiancée?"

"With your permission I'd like to run an experiment," Dorothy said.

"Go ahead," Roger snorted.

"I love you Roger," Dorothy blurted out. "I always have. Even before we first met. I've always loved you before I knew what love really was. In another life, we might have been destined for each other. I know it's ridiculous, but there it is. I love you and will always be there for you if you want me."

Roger stared at her in shock. Dorothy sat nervously, trying to be her cool emotionless self. Roger struggled to find something to say. "Dorothy I…"

At that moment the wall burst open and a massive metal claw seized Dorothy. Before he could blink she was pulled outside and out of sight. Roger ran outside and saw a gigantic misshapen skeletal megadeus holding Dorothy in the smaller of its two claws. It looked down at him and the Roger's vision was blocked out by the bottom of its colossal steel foot.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next:_ _You're Driving Me Crazy _


	8. You're Driving Me Crazy

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network._

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Eight: __You're Driving Me Crazy_

Darkness. The only light shone dimly through a little window in the door. He didn't know where he was; only that his arms were wrapped around his body and that he was laying on a cushioned surface. He managed to roll his body to a sitting position, but with his arms restrained it was difficult. Where was he? What was he dressed in? This was strangely familiar…

He seemed to be wearing pajamas; at least that's what his legs were covered with. His arms and torso were a different matter. The sleeves were too long and were tied behind him. He seemed to be wearing it backwards since he could feel straps and buckles in the back, not the front. Worse still, a strap went between his legs, making it impossible to take the strange coat off and painful to even try.

He didn't seem to be wearing shoes, and the room he was in smelled like a combination of a gas station restroom and soiled gym clothes. "Where am I?" he muttered out loud. Moaning and sobbing could be heard, as well as gibbering and laughing. Wherever he was, it was a pit of the damned.

The light in the window increased. No, there was a second source of light bobbing and moving as footsteps joined the din. The sound of a keys jingling was heard and the door opened to reveal two shadowy figures. Their faces were hard to make out because a flashlight was shining in his eyes.

"Here he is," Angel said in her white nurse's uniform. "Here's your stepfather. I'm afraid he isn't responding to treatment. Just look at him."

"Yes," Dorothy said in her green dress and white stockings. Her red hair was in ponytails but she still wore a white barrette. "Oh Roger," she shook her head sadly.

With the light spilling into his cell, Roger could get a better look at his surroundings. The walls were padded like upholstery. He was wearing a straitjacket! No wonder he couldn't use his arms! "I… I'm in an insane asylum…" he stammered. "I'm in a madhouse! Dorothy, get me out of here!"

"He recognizes you," Angel smiled. "Finally we're making progress. He only calls _me_ Angel."

"Can you clean him up?" Dorothy asked. "You could at least give him back his dignity. Roger dresses in black. I bet he hates wearing white."

"Dorothy! Please! Get me out of here!" Roger yelped.

"Your stepdaughter will see you in the waiting room if you behave yourself and consent to a shower," Angel told him.

"Your stepdaughter?" Dorothy frowned. "You really _are_ a louse Roger Smith."

* * *

><p>Roger ignored the orderlies stripping him of his clothes and subjecting him to a cold shower. His mind was whirling with questions. Who was Roger Smith this time? What was he doing in a lunatic asylum? Why was Dorothy posing as his stepdaughter? Where were Norman and Big O?<p>

* * *

><p>Soon Roger was in a change of clothes and sitting in a comfortable lounge. He didn't get his own clothes. He got a uniform made of thin, soft fabric: White elastic pants and a white shirt with slippers for the feet. No ties, belts or shoelaces that he could use to hang himself or strangle anyone.<p>

Dorothy entered and sat close to him on a nearby couch. She was still wearing her green dress but her hair was back in its pageboy cut. "May I have a moment alone with him?"

"Are you sure?" Nurse Angel asked. "He's been known to get um… excited."

"He won't be violent with me I assure you," Dorothy said. "You said that I'm the first person he recognized. Please. Let me have some time with him with no distracting influences."

"I'll be good I promise," Roger attempted one of his winning smiles.

"Okay, but you know what to do if you need help," Angel said. "I'll be right outside the door if you need anything."

"I'll be fine," Dorothy assured her. Angel nodded once and left the room but she left the door open. "I'm disappointed, but not surprised Roger," she said sadly.

Roger gazed out the door for a moment and then let out a large sigh. "I'm really messed up, aren't I?"

"Your stepdaughter, Roger? Really?" Dorothy made an attempt at indignation but it came out closer to amusement. "Is that how you see me?"

"Well you are my ward aren't you?" Roger shrugged. "I am kind of your guardian, aren't I?"

"Yes but I don't see you as a father figure," Dorothy said.

"You don't?" Roger coughed indignantly. "Why not? After your creator died I took you in didn't I? Why don't you see me as a parent?"

"My creator was an old man who had a gift in robotics," Dorothy said. "Out of the three people living in our house can you think of anyone who matches that description? And who is a natural caregiver?"

"Norman," Roger nodded. "I should have guessed. Age before seniority."

"I notice you've put yourself in a mental institution Roger," Dorothy said as she looked around the room. "You seem to be aware of your problem."

"What am I doing here, Dorothy?" Roger asked her. "Who had me committed? Was it Dastun?"

"No," the girl said. "You did this to yourself."

"Excuse me?"

"You put yourself in here," Dorothy clarified. "The reason you're in a madhouse is because this is where you think you belong."

"I don't belong here Dorothy," Roger grumbled.

"I know you don't, but you're going to have to calm down if you want to leave," the girl said. "Whatever happens you don't want to get excited."

"I'm not excited I'm just frustrated!" Roger growled.

_"__You don't know what sort of being you are and that's why you're frustrated," __Alex Rosewater said as he ate his salad._

"Roger pay attention to me," Dorothy was off the couch and was crouching over him. Her hand was holding his chin forcing him to look at her. "Keep your mind focused on me. Ignore all other distractions. Stay with me. Don't think of the past. Don't think of anything else. What is Roger Smith's Rule Number One?"

Roger blinked in confusion, somewhat intimidated by her earnestness. "If you want to live a happy life leave Memories alone when they crop up," he said slowly. "Is that what you wanted to hear Dorothy?"

Dorothy nodded and sat back down on the couch. Roger noticed that she wasn't wearing her green dress anymore. She was dressed in black and wore a hat with a veil. The veil was pulled up to reveal her face.

"Weren't you wearing green just a little while ago?" he asked. What the hell, he was in a mental institution. No point hiding anything.

"Yes," she said.

"What are you doing wearing black?" he asked her.

"You put me in this," she replied.

Roger wiped his face and tried to collect his thoughts. "Okay let's start at the beginning. How did I get here?"

"You put yourself here," she replied.

"I checked myself in?" Roger frowned in disbelief. "That doesn't sound like me. I must have really been out of it. Did I use my own name?"

"Who do you think you are?" she asked.

"Roger Smith!" he said defensively. "Do you think I'm someone else?"

"No," Dorothy assured him in her cool monotone. "I think you're Roger Smith also. Who is Roger Smith?"

"I don't even know anymore," Roger groaned and rubbed at his eyes.

"Roger!" Dorothy snapped. "This is very important. Who is Roger Smith?"

"Who is Roger Smith?" he stammered. "I'm… a negotiator. I perform a very important job in the city of amnesia."

"Where do you live?" Dorothy asked. "What is the name of your hometown?"

"Paradigm City," Roger said. "Forty years ago everybody lost their memory. Look is there a point to this or…"

"What else do you do?" Dorothy asked.

"What?" Roger squirmed in his seat. A shadow blocked out the light from outside. Roger could see the gigantic form of Big O crouching outside to look into the window at him.

"Don't look out the window," Dorothy got up and closed the curtains. "Let's try something easier. Who am I?"

"You're R Dorothy Wayneright," Roger smiled confidently.

"Who am I?"

"That's not your name?" Roger gulped. "I was sure…"

"No that's my name," the girl assured him. "But who am I?"

"Uh," Roger scratched his head.

"Who am I?" A little girl with red ponytails in a frilly pink dress asked him.

"Er," he rubbed at his eye.

"Who am I?" a crash test dummy in a black dress and a red wig asked him.

"What do you mean?" Roger scratched at his cheek.

"Who am I?" Dorothy was herself again, and wearing a maid's uniform.

"Could you rephrase the question?" Roger rubbed furiously at his eyes.

"Who am I Roger?" Dorothy asked while modeling a red evening gown with long black opera gloves. Was it his imagination or was her figure curvier than he remembered? "Who am I to you?"

"I… uh…" He squirmed in his chair uncomfortably.

"You still haven't decided have you?" Dorothy was wearing her reddish black dress, white jabot and formal white cuffs. A set of black stockings and shiny black shoes completed her ensemble. Her red pageboy haircut was immaculate, her bangs broken by a black barrette. "You don't know who I am to you. You can't decide. I suppose I shouldn't push it."

"What's… going on Dorothy?" Roger asked. "I'm having hallucinations! I'm seeing things!" The curtains were open again but there was no Big O outside looking at him. Didn't Dorothy shut them earlier?

"That's because you're not concentrating," Dorothy scolded.

"Maybe… maybe I belong here," Roger decided. "Maybe I should stay here until I get my mind in order."

"Trying to get your mind in order is the problem Roger," Dorothy snorted as she crossed her arms. "You're shutting the world out. You refuse to face reality until you know what it is. Until you know who _you_ are. You're just going to have to face the world as it is and find a way to get by. That's what everybody else does."

"But who… am I Dorothy?" Roger asked weakly. "I don't understand any of this. Who am I?"

"Roger Smith," Dorothy replied.

"Are you sure?" Roger asked. "Are you absolutely sure? How do you know I'm Roger Smith?"

"That's the name you gave me," Dorothy said. "When we met in your study the day you ransomed me from Beck you said your name was Roger Smith. It's also on your driver's license. So is your picture."

"And who is… Roger Smith?" he asked.

"That's a question only you can answer Roger," Dorothy replied.

"What if I can't?" he shivered.

"You have to," Dorothy told him. "You can't hide in here forever."

"I'm not hiding, I'm trapped here!" Roger insisted.

"You've trapped yourself," Dorothy said. "Only you can let yourself go."

"How do I do that?" Roger rose from his chair.

"I don't know." The girl remained sitting.

"Who is Roger Smith?" Roger paced the room.

"You are," Dorothy said.

"How old am I?" Roger asked.

"I don't know," Dorothy replied.

"Who were my birth parents?" he ran his hands through his hair as he continued pacing like an animal in a cage.

"I don't know," Dorothy told him.

"How did I meet Big O?" he asked.

"I don't know," Dorothy said.

"How do I know that any of this is real?" he rubbed his eyes in frustration.

"It isn't," Dorothy said. "None of this is real. This is all in your head."

"Excuse me?" he stopped pacing and stared at the girl.

"None of this is real," she repeated. "You're dreaming. This is all in your head."

"None of it?" Roger asked. "Are you saying that I'm not in a mental institution?"

"You're not in a mental institution," Dorothy affirmed, "but perhaps you should be."

"Then where am I?" Roger asked.

"Right now you're sitting in Big O. Norman and I put you in the cockpit when you wouldn't wake up," Dorothy told him. "You're in some kind of coma."

"Are you telling me…? I'm asleep?" Roger gasped a disbelieving Roger.

"Yes," Dorothy nodded. "You've spent the entire day asleep. Having nightmares. And you won't wake up. Norman is getting worried."

"What am I doing in Big O?" Roger asked.

"It was the only way that I could contact you," Dorothy told him. "I hooked my central processing unit up to Big O's computer, allowing me to transfer my consciousness into your brain. Like a phone call."

"Ha!" Roger snorted melodramatically. "You're talking crazy!"

"I'm not the one who put himself in a mental institution Roger," Dorothy said. "I think you're the one who needs mental help right now."

"If all of this is a dream why should I listen to you?" Roger challenged. "How do I know you're not just a hallucination? Why should I think that you're real?"

"I can prove it," Dorothy told him.

"I'd like to see you try," Roger snorted.

"Very well," she nodded. She was on her feet faster than the eye could follow. She struck him with a blow that sent him to his knees and then she hit him in the face with a punch that could shatter concrete.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next:_ _Inner Voice_


	9. Inner Voice

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network. _

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Nine: __Inner Voice_

Darkness. Roger was lying on his back on an uneven surface. A railroad track. And he was underground. A tunnel or a subway. A light appeared. Dorothy's barrette had slid open to reveal a halogen lamp in a rectangular cavity in her head. Dorothy was carrying a picnic basket and was wearing a red cloak with a hood over her normal clothing. "Red… Destiny?" Roger choked as he scrambled to his feet.

"I suppose I shouldn't have hit you," Dorothy said as she examined her cloak. The dainty android noticed a pistol in her hand before she tossed it over her shoulder. She bent over and offered Roger a hand up. "It's my fault. I was trying to do something you couldn't predict. Something you couldn't imagine me ever doing. It seemed the best way to prove that I'm real. Are you all right?"

"Red Destiny!" Roger backed away from her.

"Dorothy Wayneright," the girl corrected.

"Are you sure?" Roger asked.

Dorothy dropped the basket and removed her cloak revealing the reddish black dress with the white cuffs and jabot that Roger remembered. "Quite sure," she nodded. "Although my appearance seems to change with your perception of me."

"Dorothy what's going on?" Roger demanded. "What are we doing here?"

"You put us here," Dorothy told him.

"I put us here?" Roger dusted himself off to discover that he was wearing his familiar black suit with his black tie with the grey stripe. "How? Did we drive? How do we get out?"

"We'll get out when you let us out," Dorothy said.

"Dorothy, you're talking in riddles!" Roger snarled as he started walking down the train tunnel.

"No I'm not," Dorothy said as she walked alongside him. "I'm being discreet. I have no idea how you'll react if I just blurt out the truth."

"So you know what's going on?" Roger asked. "You know what's really happening?"

"Most of what I read in that psychology book I didn't understand but yes, I think I know what's happening to you," she replied.

"So spit it out already," Roger snapped.

"Very well," Dorothy said. "You're in some kind of coma. You're asleep dreaming all of this and you won't wake up. This is all an illusion created by your unconscious mind and none of it is real."

"This is all a dream?" Roger asked as they walked towards a light. A staircase led up and they could hear the sounds of traffic.

"Yes," Dorothy said as they climbed the steps. "A dream. None of this is real."

"Not even you?" Roger asked was they walked out of the subway onto the open sidewalk. A sunny city street in a prosperous downtown neighborhood greeted them. The buildings were clean and new, not dingy and rundown. A nearby clock tower had a working clock instead of an empty hole. The sky above was natural, not one created by artificial lighting on the inside of a dome. Affluent people walked the street or drove new cars. Roger slowly turned in a circle. "This place… it's Paradigm City… the Paradigm City that existed in a hallucination I had when we were fighting the three foreign megadeuses…"

"Yes," Dorothy said. "This is just like then, but instead of lasting only moments your hallucinatory coma is lasting the entire day."

"If none of this is real what's the point of talking to you?" Roger asked her.

"I'm trying to help you," she said.

"But if you aren't real how can you help me?" Roger shook his head. "How can you be _any_ help if you're not real?"

"I _am_ real, I downloaded my consciousness into your brain," she said. "It's like using the telephone. My perceptions are being transferred to your subconscious."

"That's impossible Dorothy!" Roger groaned as he started walking down the street.

"All right, let's suppose I'm not real," Dorothy said as she followed him through the crowd. "I'm still trying to help. Perhaps I'm a spirit guide."

"Androids don't believe in spirit guides!" Roger shook his head.

"I read a book on spiritualism last year when I was trying to determine whether or not I have a soul," Dorothy explained. "If you don't believe in spirit guides, why don't you accept that I'm your inner voice trying to communicate with you by taking the form of someone you trust?"

"That's ridiculous," Roger snorted. "If you were my inner voice you'd take the form of a mentor figure. You'd be some old guy like Norman."

"I read a psychology book published before the Event that claimed every man had an element in their collective unconscious called the _anima_," Dorothy said. "In the unconscious mind of the male it finds expression as a feminine inner personality. Women have a masculine counterpart called the _animus_."

"What does an 'anima' do anyway?" Roger decided to humor her. "Are you the part of my soul that talks to me in dreams or something?"

"The book I read was vague on the subject," Dorothy said. "The anima is one of many elements in the collective unconscious, like the shadow or the self. I suppose you could call it your sensitive side. It helps you to open up emotionally."

"Help me open up emotionally, huh?" Roger chuckled. "And it looks like you? That's a good one!"

"Maybe there's a reason why the part that wants you to open up resembles Dorothy Wayneright?" Dorothy asked coyly. "Perhaps you have unresolved feelings for me."

Roger stopped pushing his way through the crowded street to turn and look at her.

"I shouldn't have said that," Dorothy said guiltily. "It was selfish of me and probably has nothing to do with your coma."

"Let's talk in the park where it's quieter," Roger suggested.

"All right."

* * *

><p>Soon they were walking through a wooded city park that was a half mile by two and a half miles of land and foliage that were cleverly landscaped to look natural, right down to the lakes and ponds that broke the tree cover. Roger and Dorothy shared the forested path with joggers, bicyclists, and pedestrians. The city's skyscrapers peaked out through the leafy canopy overhead.<p>

"This is a beautiful park Roger," Dorothy said quietly. "Is it a memory or did you imagine it yourself?"

"You're weird," he grunted as he sat on a park bench. He looked at her and laughed. He then looked out at the lake before him wistfully. "The last time I was here I was a homeless bum, but now I'm still dressed like Roger the Negotiator. What does that mean?"

"I don't know," she said. "Was I with you last time you dreamed of this place?"

"No," Roger shook his head and watched the ducks in the water. "I was alone. Nobody knew who I was. Heck _I_ didn't know who I was."

"I know who you are," Dorothy said as she sat on the bench next to him. "You're Roger Smith, Paradigm City's top negotiator and the pilot of Big O. You're the man who took me in after my father died and gave me a home in a threatening uncaring world. You're the man that I…" she stopped abruptly.

"Yes?" Roger looked at her expectantly. "You were saying?"

"Forget it," Dorothy said sadly. "It's not important."

"Is it my imagination or are you more emotional in my dreams?" Roger smiled. "If you're real how come you're so expressive?"

"My appearance in your dreams is based off your perception of me as much as my own self-image," Dorothy shrugged. "That and I'm not used to projecting my mind into a human body. My guess is that your body is reacting to my feelings and I'm not used to it."

"I'm not even going to touch that one," Roger rolled his eyes.

"So tell me about these dreams you've been having," Dorothy said.

"If you're my inner voice haven't you been here the whole time?" Roger mocked.

"I'm not really your inner voice," Dorothy corrected. "I just said that so you would accept me. I haven't been here the whole time. When I first arrived the reactions of your body overpowered me and I started crying. You came out of your bedroom wearing a sweater. I told you that I loved you and a megadeus stepped on you."

Roger stared at her and beads of sweat formed on his brow. "How do you know that?" he gasped.

"We're in a version of Paradigm City that exists only in your delirium," Dorothy said. "You have a problem with my memory of one of your past dreams?"

"I guess deep down I thought this was reality," Roger grumbled.

"That's all right," she said. "Appearances can be deceiving."

"So I'm asleep," Roger leaned forward and cupped his chin with his hands while resting his elbows on his knees. "Or I'm insane. Or both. Or hypnotized. Or dead. What do I do now?"

"Try to work through your problems," Dorothy suggested. "There's no point holding back if you're only dreaming. You can be honest with yourself and face your inner demons. What's bothering you?"

"I don't know if I'm real," Roger sighed while gazing out at Gordon Rosewater's tomato farm. Barrels of tomatoes were right in front of the park bench and Roger saw his reflection on the surface of every one of them.

"Why are we looking at tomatoes?" Dorothy asked.

"Years ago Gordon Rosewater implanted Memories from the past into several children," Roger sighed. "I think I was one of them. I don't know if I'm an orphan he experimented on or if I'm a clone he grew in a vat. He used tomatoes as a metaphor and mentioned something about a harvest."

"Would it be so bad if you were a clone?" Dorothy asked him.

"Darn right it would!" Roger snarled. "Finding out that I'm just a copy of someone who lived before! You can't know how…" he stopped as he realized what he was saying. He hesitantly turned his head to look at Dorothy.

"There's something on your face, Roger Smith," Dorothy was scowling at him with an expression that suggested homicide. Tears were forming in her eyes.

"Dorothy!" Roger gasped. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean that…"

"What _did_ you mean then, Roger Smith?" Dorothy hissed.

"I… I meant that…"

"Y-you must really pity me," she looked away as she searched her pockets for a handkerchief. "Your physiology is a real nuisance Roger," she growled. "Your body reacts every time you hurt my feelings. It's a good thing Norman has you on an IV drip or I'd dehydrate you."

"Dorothy I…"

"I better go," she sniffed as she wiped her face. "I can't think rationally with my consciousness being assaulted by your pituitary gland. I'll just say something that will upset you. I'll be back as soon as I can. Big O, take me out please."

"Dorothy wait don't go!" he lunged at her but it was too late. He blinked and she was gone. There was nothing but tomatoes as far as the eye could see.

"Woman problems, Mister Negotiator?" A man in a tattered raincoat walked up to Roger and sat on the bench with him. The man's face was wrapped in bandages and a green lens over his left eye hid it from view.

"Schwartzwald!" Roger growled. "Get out of my head! I don't need this today!"

"Don't you want to get to the Truth, Paradigm Dog?" Schwartzwald asked coyly. "You act like I'm the enemy, when the enemy is really your own ignorance! Do you find facing the Truth that painful Mister Negotiator?"

"I… I don't need this!" Roger growled. "I just want to get on with my life!"

"Which life?" Schwartzwald asked. "Your job as negotiator? Your career in the Military Police? Your place as head of the Paradigm Corporation? Or do you consent to join the Union? Or maybe you'd prefer the total freedom of Andrew Ryan's underwater utopia? But personally I think you should take your rightful place as domineus…"

"I may pilot Big O, but I am not a domineus!" Roger insisted.

"Dear deluded negotiator, you already are," Schwartzwald said lazily. "You've been a domineus from before you can remember. You're on the hook, there's no point wriggling. You are the domineus of this world, the domineus of Big O."

"Quit calling me that," Roger growled. "I am not a domineus, that's not my name."

"You reject that name so easily," Schwartzwald laughed, "but you don't even know what a 'domineus' is, do you?"

"I know that it's something that has been thrust upon me, something that's not my choice," Roger said stubbornly.

"How do you know?" Schwartzwald shrugged. "Perhaps you did take on that burden on purpose and now you've simply… forgotten. Perhaps you chose your destiny and now that you can't remember you're trying to wriggle out of it."

"Round and round like a rat in a cage!" Roger groaned.

"You can't plan for the future unless you learn from the past," the bandaged burn victim told him. "Only a dog lives solely in the present and that's what you've chosen for yourself. Why do you deny the past and hide from the future?"

"I… don't know…" Roger admitted.

"You live your life by a set of rules you made yourself," Schwartzwald shrugged. His voice sounded… calm. Reasonable. Totally unSchwartzwaldlike. "You live your daily routine from day to day and you don't know why. You have no relationships, so you don't have to worry about anything changing. When Big Venus was going to destroy the world you talked Angel into setting everything back the way it was not the way it could be. You are addicted to the Now, with no past and no future. Your best friend has no life outside of the job and half the time you don't admit that he's your friend in the first place. Your single confidant is your butler, a man who will never challenge your judgments and your heart can't decide between a woman you can't have or a woman who isn't real…"

"Get out of my face," Roger grumbled.

"No… that's not true," Schwartzwald's voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. "You _did_ choose didn't you? You chose the one that isn't real. That way your relationship need never change. It never has to go beyond holding hands, so it never has to end since you won't let it begin. Before she moved in you chased every girl you knew wouldn't stay with you so you wouldn't have to change the status quo, but now you've found something even better. You've found a girl who will never change at all. She'll look like she does forever if you can maintenance her properly. She'll wait until the world ends for you. No matter how much time goes by she'll always have the same body and always have the same heart…"

"Shut _up_!" an unshaven Roger shouted as he punched the bandaged apparition. Roger's clothes were different. His tie was gone and his hair and clothing were scruffy like they were when he imagined himself a homeless wanderer in a Paradigm City of the past. He seized Schwartzwald by the lapels and dragged him to his feet.

"Beating me senseless won't protect you from the Truth, Negotiator," Schwartzwald laughed. "If you've tired of my company I'll leave." Schwartzwald freed himself from Roger's grip and made a big show of dusting himself off. "Just to show there's no hard feelings between us, here's your robot girlfriend to keep you company." He moved aside to reveal Dorothy Wayneright standing behind him. The rectangular gap in her forehead revealed that she had no memory drive. For all intents and purposes she was dead, an electronic statue. "Here is the destiny you have chosen," Schwartzwald gestured to her like a deranged showman. "Your true love: Someone who never existed but is the perfect illusion of something real! No matter how much you want to pretend that you matter to someone, the truth is that you're alone. Farewell, Paradigm Dog! Have fun playing make-believe!"

Roger slumped to his knees. Schwartzwald was gone and he didn't see him leave. Roger was trapped in an endless field of wheat kneeling next to a lifeless Dorothy and three barrels of tomatoes. He was alone, with not even a tormenter to keep him company.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Intimacy_


	10. Intimacy

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network. _

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Ten: __Intimacy_

"Roger?" Dorothy's quiet voice spoke from the darkness. "Wake up. You're having a nightmare."

Roger opened his eyes. It was dark. Rain was pounding on the window. Roger was in bed, back in his room on the top floor of the Smith Tower. What time was it? It must have been the middle of the night. He sat up, tried to talk, made some sputtering noises instead and rubbed his eyes.

A beam of light blinded Roger momentarily before moving off to his left. Dorothy's lily white hand turned on the table lamp on the little table near his bed and the girl was revealed to Roger's bleary eyes.

Roger's eyes didn't remain bleary for long.

Dorothy Wayneright was wearing a black slip nightgown that was held on her body by two fragile spaghetti straps. To Roger's eyes, she looked almost naked. It didn't even cover her thighs. Fortunately, the image of innocent sexuality was marred by the rectangular gap in her head where her barrette had rose out to expose her memory drive and the halogen lamp behind it. The black barrette lowered itself into her bangs as she turned to face Roger. "Are you all right?" she asked as she turned to give him a full view of the way the slip fit her delicate curves.

Roger nodded dumbly despite the little voice in his head that kept saying 'Don't stare! Don't stare!' He shook his head to clear it and noticed the mattress tilting as Dorothy opened the blankets and slid into bed with him. Now he was awake and didn't even need his coffee. "R Dorothy Wayneright!" he bellowed as he jumped out of bed. "What are do you think you're doing? What is the meaning of invading my privacy like this?"

"You need me," Dorothy said as she slid out of the bed and gently grasped Roger's shoulders. "You want me. You're alone, and I'm here for you."

"Well uh… I'm not a child…" he muttered, his indignation extinguished by Dorothy's caresses. "I uh… what are you doing?" he asked as she rubbed his chest and brushed his hair out of his eyes.

"I'm here for you Roger," she said softly. "You don't have to be alone anymore."

"Er ah… Dorothy," he blushed as he gently removed her hands from his person. "This isn't appropriate…"

"I won't tell anyone," she sighed as her hands ran up his arms.

Roger's cheeks were burning now. "Dorothy you don't know what you're doing." He wriggled out of her grasp but she continued to follow him as he backed away. He darted away from her and put the bed between them.

"Yes I do," Dorothy nodded as she crawled across the bed towards him. From that angle Roger could look down her nightgown and saw more of sweet little Dorothy than he intended to. "I love you. And I think that deep down you love me. And I don't want you to be alone. I want to be with you. You're having nightmares because you're so alone…" She had moved off the bed and seized his shoulders to pull him close to her.

"I… I'm fine," he stammered as he pulled her hands away. They held each other's hands as they squirmed and maneuvered for position. It was as if they were engaged in an awkward yet sensual dance. "Believe me, I'm fine! I just need more sleep that's all and maybe I should watch what I eat before I go to bed…"

"I need you Roger Smith, and you need me too," she said as she pressed his body up against the wall. "Please Roger, you need this, and so do I. I love you… Don't you want to be with me?"

"Dorothy you're not even two!" Roger said as he wriggled out of her grasp and found himself back on the bed. "You're just kid, you don't even know what you want yet! How could I possibly take advantage of you?"

"But you love me don't you?" Dorothy pouted. "You're in love with me aren't you?"

"Yes I'm in love with you but I can't…"

"But you want to don't you?" She asked as she crawled on top of him.

"Yeah, I want to put a bullet in Beck's head too," Roger growled as he seized her shoulders and pushed her off him. "That doesn't mean I'm going to do it! There are some lines I just won't cross Dorothy," he added as he struggled to slip out of her grasp. "So many horrible things have happened to you in such a short time already. I can't let myself be one of them. You understand that, don't you?"

"'So many horrible things have happened to me already'?" Dorothy's voice repeated from across the room. "I had no idea you had those kinds of issues Roger Smith."

Roger looked over Dorothy's naked shoulder to see… Dorothy Wayneright! A second Dorothy Wayneright wearing a black bathrobe was in the doorway leading out to the parlor.

"How…?" He stared at the Dorothy in his arms before rolling so that he was on top. He pushed away from her and staggered backwards so he could see both Dorothys at once.

"I had no idea you had such feelings for me," the Dorothy in the doorway seemed almost amused.

"Roger, hold me," the Dorothy on the bed begged him.

"It's alright, she's not real," the Dorothy in the doorway said as she entered the room. "If it helps, she's just the product of your perverted imagination."

"Dorothy! I…!" he rubbed his eyes before looking back at them. There was only one Dorothy now, and she was wearing her reddish black dress with the white cuffs and jabot now. "What's happening? What's going on?"

"You're still asleep Roger, this is all just a dream," Dorothy told him. She walked over to the closet and got out his slippers and bathrobe. "If you're ready we can talk about it. Unless you want to continue where you left off?"

"That… won't be necessary Dorothy," Roger blushed, unsure if he should be relieved or disappointed. He decided to settle on being confused. "What's going on?"

"You're dreaming," Dorothy repeated as she handed him his bathrobe. "And you're a little hard of hearing apparently."

"You sure _seem_ like the real Dorothy," Roger frowned as he shrugged into the robe.

"That's because I _am_ the real Dorothy," the redhead replied as she handed him his slippers. "Unless you've decided that I'm your inner voice or something."

"No let's just pretend you're the real Dorothy for now," Roger sighed as he sat on his bed to put his slippers on.

"Then let's take up where we left off," Dorothy said as she sat down in a chair.

Roger blinked. Dorothy's dress had vanished to be replaced by a silky black slip.

"I meant your concern that you might be a copy of someone who lived before," Dorothy explained, crossing her naked legs.

Roger rubbed his eyes. Dorothy was back in her reddish black dress again.

"I apologize for leaving," Dorothy looked away. "I suppose that I'm too close to the problem, and it affects me personally. It would seem that we have more in common than we realized, despite the fact that you're human and I'm an android."

"We both don't know if we're real," Roger nodded glumly. "Am I the real Roger Smith or just a copy? Are you the real Dorothy Wayneright?"

"Why are my Memories capable of operating a megadeus?" Dorothy added.

"Are these Memories really mine or do they not belong to me?" Roger continued.

"Am I truly capable of love?" Dorothy prompted with a shy smile. "So Roger is it true? Are you really in love with me?"

"That's hitting below the belt Dorothy," Roger protested.

"You're right, I'm putting my interests before yours," Dorothy admitted. "Still you seemed to be working through that question when I arrived. Can you answer it? Just for your own sake if no one else's."

"I dunno," Roger rubbed his eyes. "I don't want to love you that way. You're so young. You can't be more than two years old. That's underage in anybody's book."

"But are you in love with me anyway, Roger Smith?" Dorothy asked hopefully.

Roger looked down at his feet. "Yes."

Dorothy put her hands over her mouth to stifle a nervous giggle. "My second laugh," she blushed. "This one is so much better."

"Do you love me Dorothy?" Roger asked with a gentle smile.

"Yes, but I don't want to scare you," Dorothy grinned indulgently.

"Scare me?" Roger frowned. "The idea of you being in love with me doesn't scare me," he said indignantly.

"Yes it does it terrifies you," Dorothy scolded. "When I told you I was in love with you you had a megadeus kidnap me and step on you. It was _pathetic_."

"Pathetic?" Roger protested. "From my point of view it was terrifying."

"Or are you afraid to love anyone at all Roger Smith?" Dorothy asked softly. "Are you afraid that if you admit you love someone, they'll be taken away from you?"

"I…" Roger's eyes were stinging. He brushed a tear out of his eye and stared at his hand in surprise. "You're… you're right Dorothy! Deep down I'm convinced that if I fall in love with someone they'll be taken away from me. You're right. I opened myself up to Angel because…"

"You knew that one day she would disappear without warning," Dorothy finished. "Because you knew that one day you would lose her a part of you instinctively decided that you two were meant to be. We always want what we can't have."

"Even androids?" Roger smiled wryly at her.

"At least this android," Dorothy admitted. "I can't speak for the other ones."

He smiled sheepishly at her. "What did you say the anima did again?"

"It opens you up emotionally," Dorothy smiled.

"You're doing a great job of that," he winked.

"Yes," Dorothy blushed and fidgeted in her chair. "This is very empowering. You're sure you don't remember your dreams very well?"

"Dorothy, what are you up to?" Roger's voice had a playful scold.

"It's occurred to me that this is an opportune time to open up to you, for you won't remember what I told you later," Dorothy said with a guilty smile.

"You don't have an ulterior motive do you?" Roger asked skeptically. "Like planting ideas in my dreams so you can influence my waking behavior would you?"

"Like I said, it's tempting to put my interests before your own," Dorothy admitted. "Still it might help you to realize that you're not alone. In many ways I face the same predicament that you do. I'm trying to find my identity."

"Not easy is it?" Roger nodded.

"It isn't," Dorothy agreed. "People are quick to put a label on you, but you don't know if it's accurate and you have to challenge it. For example, I'm an android. Do I have a soul? Am I truly alive? Should I have the rights of a human being?"

"Should you?" Roger prodded.

"I think I should," Dorothy nodded, "but of course I'm biased. Do I have the right to love you? It's not like I can bear children. Am I imposing on you by daring to become a bigger part of your life?"

"If it helps the idea of children scares me," Roger laughed. "The only reason I let _you_ stay is because you're so mature."

"And I'm impressively well built," she added. "We must talk like this sometime when you're awake."

"That's right," Roger nodded. "I'm asleep. Did you get anything else out of that psychiatry book you were reading? Or if all of this is a dream is there anything _I_ read somewhere that I could remember through you?"

"It was a confusing book about archetypes and the collective unconscious," Dorothy said. "It hypothesized that the human mind has a number of symbolic archetypes within that it uses define its individuality. The three most prominent at this stage of your life are the persona, the shadow and the anima."

"The persona?" Roger prodded.

"The mask that protects us from our negative self-images," Dorothy explained. "The part of ourselves that represents who we believe ourselves to be, not necessarily who we are."

"Roger the Negotiator," Roger sighed. "That's the mask that represents who I believe myself to be, whether it's true or not. You told me what the anima is, my feminine side who wants to put me in touch with my feelings. So what is the shadow? It sounds very sinister."

"The shadow aspect is a part of the unconscious mind consisting of repressed weaknesses, shortcomings, and instincts," Dorothy said. "It is the part of the self that the conscious mind doesn't want to accept as part of itself."

"The 'dark side' of the mind," Roger nodded.

"Everyone would theoretically perceive their shadow as evil," Dorothy shrugged. "It is the part of your mind that you're ashamed of. The part of your identity that you refuse to admit is part of you. There are other psychological archetypes but those are the three I best understand."

"Or are they the three _I_ best understand?" Roger sighed. "It could be that I'm alone and just talking to myself."

"At least you're getting in touch with your feelings Roger Smith," Dorothy said hopefully. "If I'm not real, hopefully I'm a positive aspect to your personality."

"What happened to me?" Roger asked. "Why haven't I woke up yet? Why am I having these crazy dreams?"

"I can only speculate but my guess is that it has something to do with that monster we encountered at Dinosaur Lodge," Dorothy suggested. "It invaded your thoughts and you asked Big O to help you. Big O responded by entering your mind and deleting all mental engrams that were foreign to your psyche. The problem is that you're still wounded, psychically. If you had been shot it would be as if Big O removed the bullets but didn't know how to stitch up the holes. Your mind is a jumble trying to put itself back together now that the structures that used to make up your identity have been damaged."

"And I've got a lot of crazy stuff in my head that's been brought to the surface," Roger nodded. "All those twisted Memories have been torn lose and they're floating through my noggin like confetti on New Year's Eve, clogging up the works of what used to be my mind. I'm too messed up to have my brain scrambled like I did."

"Part of the trouble could be that you have so much willpower," Dorothy suggested.

"What do you mean by that?" Roger asked.

"I think that your will is so strong that it's affecting your body," Dorothy clarified. "You refuse to accept reality until you know what reality is so you remain in your dream world until you can make a decision."

"The human mind doesn't work like that Dorothy," Roger scoffed. "The body doesn't work like that either."

"It was only a guess," Dorothy shrugged. "The book was about self-realization. It warned that if a person doesn't proceed towards self-knowledge neurotic symptoms may arise. I'm over simplifying…"

"How do I gain self-knowledge when I don't know what Memories are mine?" Roger asked. "We're between a rock and a hard place."

"The book suggested exploring and integrating the disowned parts of your identity," Dorothy said. "Right now you seem to be exploring your feminine side and getting in touch with your feelings. Do you want to kiss me?"

"Yes," Roger blushed and looked away.

"Perhaps you should accept and explore your feelings for me," Dorothy smiled gently. "I may only be in your mind but once you stop denying me you'll be able to move on to your next challenge."

"And if you're the _real_ Dorothy Wayneright?" Roger asked with a knowing grin.

Dorothy smiled back. "Then I'll be able to move on to my next challenge also."

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: Beside Myself _


	11. Beside Myself

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network. _

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Eleven: __Beside Myself_

"Roger, are you going to kiss me?" Dorothy asked shyly while the midnight rain pitter-pattered outside the windows. It gave his bedroom a cozy feeling.

"Not much for letting things develop spontaneously are you?" he joked as he stood there in his pajamas and bathrobe.

"I'm merely making a suggestion," she said. "You won't wake up until you find a reality you can accept. You're conflicted about everything, from the world, your identity, to your feelings about me. You haven't chosen one Truth; you have nothing to believe in."

"Do _you_ have a Truth that you can believe in?" he asked.

"I believe in you," Dorothy replied. "Whatever you decide, I'm sure it'll be for the best. Even if I don't agree with it."

Roger let out a long sigh. "It's hard to live up to your expectations when I'm not living up to my own. How can I accept my responsibilities when I don't know what they are?"

"Perhaps you're raising the bar too high," Dorothy said. "If you don't know who you're supposed to be, try to be someone attainable. Someone who isn't perfect."

"I tried that," Roger grumbled. "I set out to be a professional negotiator, no more, no less, and now that isn't enough. I've become the Atlas of the world, having to hold it up with my own shoulders lest it collapse."

"Take time out for yourself," Dorothy suggested. "No matter how great your responsibilities, you're still only human. Take the time to attend to any needs that haven't been met. Is there something in your life that you need but haven't been getting? Is there anything I can do to make things easier for you?"

"Now that's pretty suggestive," Roger smiled mischievously.

"It's alright if you want to kiss me Roger," Dorothy assured him. "This is all a dream. You're under no obligation and there are no repercussions. Unless you'd rather move on to facing a different conflict?"

"You're always so damn clinical," Roger flinched. "If you expect me to deal with my uh… unresolved feelings for you, you could try acting a bit more subtle about it. I'm not going to indulge myself on an innocent girl. I _am_ a gentleman after all."

"It's all right," Dorothy looked away. "I don't matter."

"Yes you do," Roger protested. "Why do you talk like that?"

"I'm just an android," Dorothy said sadly. "I'm an imitation of Doctor Wayneright's dead daughter. I'm not her. I want to be her for you and I can't. I'm a machine."

"You're not just a machine," Roger insisted. "You're a person. You matter."

"I don't," Dorothy said. "I have no right to make demands upon you."

"Yes you do," Roger scowled. "What kind of talk is that?"

"I'll never be a real woman," Dorothy shook her head. "I'll always be a child. I'll never be a mother or a real human being. I'm a just a copy. Even my heart is just a copy of the real Dorothy Wayneright's."

"What makes you say that?" Roger asked. "You don't even know who she was."

"When I was at Timothy Wayneright's house I found a letter that was sent to the original Dorothy Wayneright before she died. It was a love letter from a megadeus pilot named 'Roger'. Before we even met during my maintenance cycle I dreamed of dancing with a man who looked exactly like you."

"Dorothy, that's impossible," Roger snorted in disbelief. "Are you making this up?"

"I know they were only the memories of the Dorothy Wayneright that lived forty years ago but _I_ wanted to be the girl he was dancing with," Dorothy sighed. "_I _wanted to be the one who was loved, and was in love. I just wanted to be Dorothy Wayneright. I fell in love with that man from Dorothy's memories before I even met you Roger. I want to be Dorothy for you but I can't be. I'm a machine. I'm an imitation. A-and I could never tell you how I feel because I know how you feel about destiny," she whispered hoarsely. "You can't stand the idea of your fate being predetermined! You have to command your own destiny; you have to choose your own future. You couldn't stand the idea that someone might have been chosen for you… And now I… I've said too much…"

"Dorothy?" Roger asked with concern. "Are you crying?"

"I'm not… used to having…" she sniffed and shook her head. "I'm sorry Roger. I'm just too close to this. I can't… handle… all these… conflicting emotions…"

"Dorothy, you mean the world to me," Roger walked over to her and picked her up. She was a delicate teenage girl of about ninety pounds.

Dorothy's face was that of a vulnerable child. "I don't want to hold you back."

"You aren't holding me back," he shook his head as he caressed her.

"I know…" she sniffled. "But would the real Dorothy Wayneright…?"

"You _are_ the real Dorothy Wayneright now," Roger murmured in her ear as he walked back to the bed and sat down. "You don't have to be the original Dorothy Wayneright; you just have to be you."

"I don't know who that is," she whispered as she sat on his lap.

"I don't know who Roger Smith is either," Roger murmured as he ran his hand across her hair. "I do know that… he loves you." He leaned into her to give her a perfectly-aimed, long, sensual yet tender, closed-mouth kiss.

"Roger…" Dorothy whispered as she wrapped her arms around him. Before he knew it they had rolled over so that he was lying on top of her, their legs dangling off the bed their mouths exploring each other's faces. Roger ran his hands across Dorothy's body to discover that she was now wearing a silky black negligee.

Lightning flashed outside, briefly illuminating their faces. That's when it hit Roger. He was on his bed. With Dorothy. In silky sleepwear. Kissing. Lying on top of her. And she was probably only two years old at the most. And he was really turned on. He was pouncing on her like an animal!

"Roger…?"

Visions of all the pain Dorothy had undergone since they met flashed before his eyes. Their first meeting when he ransomed her from Beck. Watching her father murdered before her eyes just before she was tasered. Becoming a component of Dorothy One and being hooked into the massive robot's giant head. Being frightened by the skeletal megadeus under the city. Being kidnapped by the mad geneticist Eugene and having her kitten transformed into a giant monster. Being turned into an assassin by Beck and having to fry her own circuits to save Roger's life. Being marked for death by the android crusher. Getting shot by Alan Gabriel. And surrendering herself to Beck's scorpion robots to save Roger and Norman, knowing that she was never coming back… Roger looked at the faces of Beck, Schwarzwald, Alan Gabriel, Alex Rosewater, all of the people who hurt Dorothy in the past and finally saw… Himself!

"Get your hands off of her!" Roger growled as he wrestled the other Roger off the android girl. He was rewarded by a blow the face followed by a second to the solar plexus. Whoever Roger Smith was he wasn't anybody to mess with. With a bestial grunt he tackled the other Roger and pushed him into the full length mirror.

"Roger!" Dorothy's voice could barely be heard over the sound of breaking glass and roaring thunder. "Roger, I shouldn't have pushed you! I'm sorry!"

The two Rogers rolled around on the floor clawing and tearing at each other. One of them grabbed a piece of the shattered mirror and slashed at the other with it. They separated and jumped to their feet, one with a slash on his cheek and the other with a bloody hand clutching a shard of mirrored glass. Both were wearing black suits with a white shirt and tie bisected by a gray stripe.

"You weakling!" the one with a bloody hand hissed. "You're not worthy of her!"

"I'm not letting you hurt her!" the Roger with the bleeding cheek insisted.

"You're letting everything slip through your fingers!" the Roger holding the shard of glass growled. "Just. Like. Last time!"

"Roger!" Dorothy squeaked. "Calm down! Stop it! You're tearing me apart!"

"You can't remember who you really are and you're going to let the world die all over again!" the Roger with the shard in his hand snarled as he slashed at his twin.

"I'm not letting you destroy everything by bringing back the past!" the Roger with the bleeding cheek cried as he picked up a wooden chair and swung it at the glass wielding Roger. "If you bring up the past you'll destroy the future!"

"You're going to let her die all over again because you can't remember!" the bloody handed Roger Smith punched the other Roger and sent him tumbling backwards. "If you don't have the courage to face your past you're just going let it happen all over again! If you don't accept your Memories you're nothing!"

"People! Are not! Ruled! By their Memories!" the other Roger roared before he lunged at the other Roger again. They smashed through the window and found themselves rolling around on the rooftop patio as the rain poured down onto them.

They scrambled to their feet and grabbed each other by the lapels of their jackets. "I don't know what you hope to accomplish by dragging up the past, but I'm Roger Smith!" the Roger with the bleeding cheek snarled. "And I'm not giving that up for anybody! Not! Even! YOU!"

"You don't even know who he is!" the other Roger struck him with a bloody fist.

"I don't need to know to know he's not you!" Roger Smith snarled as the blood ran down his cheek.

"Would you give it a rest already?" they both shouted at each other. "All right so tell me how long to do you plan on mimicking me! Like! This!"

"Roger! Stop!" Dorothy Wayneright did an acrobatic flip through the broken window to land on the patio outside with them. Once again she was in her black dress with the white cuffs and jabot. "Stop fighting yourself! You're only…"

"I just can't take it anymore!" the Roger with the bleeding hand growled.

"I won't allow myself to stay here!" the Roger with the bleeding cheek snarled.

"Not… even… for another _second_!" they shouted.

"Roger, don't!" Dorothy extended her hand to them in a futile gesture.

"BIG! O!" the two Roger's bellowed into their watches. "It's Showtime!"

The white tower that was Roger's home split apart as a titanic metal hand rose up from the roof to take the two Rogers up and out of sight. Dorothy scrabbled around for a handhold as the roof collapsed under her. "Roger? Roger! RAW-JER…!" she cried as she tumbled through the air in a cascade of rubble.

"Dorothy!" the Roger with the bleeding cheek gasped from his perch in Big O's great metal hand.

"No!" the other Roger beside him collapsed to his knees and ran his bleeding hand over his face. "Dorothy! It's happening again! No…!" As he howled in agony, he didn't notice that he was alone in Big O's hand. The other Roger had launched himself into the air and left him behind.

"Dorothy!" Roger cried as he plummeted past Big O's body to fall into the shattered wreck that used to be his home. He ignored the wind biting into the wound on his face as he activated his watch. With a pneumonic hiss a slender line and a miniature grappling hook projected itself out of his wristwatch and towards the falling girl below. "Grab ahold! Grab ahold and don't let go!"

The earth had opened up beneath the Smith mansion. Dorothy fell into the blackness beneath Roger's home and the falling negotiator was following. Dorothy was illuminated briefly as she passed unknown sources of light. She was wearing her red evening gown, then her reddish black dress. She was in a light green sundress and then a maid's uniform. She was in a slip that barely covered her and then in a frilly white ballgown. Still she kept falling… falling… She kept falling and Roger couldn't catch up.

Her hand reached out to him, grasping the line that had stretched to impossible lengths. Roger seized the line with both hands and climbed down to her as they both fell through the darkness. As they fell, images of broken metal giants and screens displaying barcodes zipped by, but Roger ignored them as he grunted and pulled at the impossibly long line to get to Dorothy. They fell past ruined libraries, gigantic frozen gears and empty clock faces as he forced himself closer… closer… and closer to her…

"Maybe, I _have_ dropped the ball in the past," Roger growled as he worked his way closer to the falling girl who was now clad in a diaphanous white nightgown that spread like a parachute over her slender legs as she fell. "But I'm not letting go of you Dorothy! You're my princess and I'm not giving you up no matter what!" He finally reached her and hugged her close to his body. "Got you!" There was the sound of breaking of glass as they smashed through the roof of a room that Roger and Dorothy didn't recognize.

Roger had completely covered Dorothy with his body and held on to her as pieces of debris bounced off his back. He realized it was an empty gesture since Dorothy had taken the impact for him. When he looked at her, he was relieved to see Dorothy's dirty and tearstained face looking back up at him. She was alive! She was shivering underneath him but otherwise completely unhurt. Thank God!

"Are you alright?" Roger asked as he pulled himself off of her and climbed to his feet. When he got up, he noticed that Dorothy was back in her familiar reddish black dress. "I can't believe we're still alive."

"Deep in your heart you don't believe you can really die," Dorothy explained. Her voice had gone back to the flat emotionless tone he knew and loved. The poor girl must be numb.

"How did _you_ survive?" he asked as he glanced up at the incredibly long tunnel in the ceiling above him.

"I'm not really here, but in any case, you thought you saved me," Dorothy said. "What you think here becomes reality. This is all in your head."

"Where are we?" he asked as he looked around. "I don't recognize this place. If it's symbolic, what is it supposed to represent?"

They were in a bedroom, a large bedroom with elegant dark wood walls. Outside a window large trees, green grass, and blue skies could be seen. The occupant of the room must have been a minor, for even with ceiling plaster coating everything child sized furniture could be made out.

Posters were tacked on the wall depicting the Big O complete with a logo. An unmade bed with a teddy bear and a baseball on the spread filled one corner of the room. A toybox was near a desk with a computer. Bookshelves contained books, board games and models and more toys. A plastic tricycle style toy was in the corner of the room, and more toys were perched on dressers.

Dorothy picked up a toy robot and examined it. "Perhaps this room represents your childhood," she offered.

"That can't be," Roger shook his head. "I grew up in an orphanage before my foster parents adopted me and they didn't live out in the country like this."

"Roger what was that noise?" At that moment a door opened and a woman in a red skirt and yellow blouse entered the room. Her sophisticated features were framed by a raven black pageboy haircut. She was maybe ten years older than Roger, but was still very attractive. She shrieked when she saw the debris that had caved in from the ceiling. "Bruce!" she cried. "Get in here! The ceiling to Roger's room collapsed! It's a disaster area!"

"What was that noise, dear?" a deep masculine voice called. A tall burly man in a black business suit entered the room. The man was as tall as Roger himself. He was built like a football running back. He had black hair and a square jaw. Only when he was close up could Roger tell that he was almost twice his age. "Roger, are you okay? It looks like an artillery shell hit this place! Are you hurt son?"

"Mom! Dad!" Roger gasped in disbelief. "It's me! It's Roger!"

"It's okay Roger," his mother assured him. "You won't get in trouble."

His father glanced slyly at Dorothy. "Snuck a girl into your room I see," he winked. "You're getting pretty quick with the ladies there, son."

"Oh uh… Mom? Dad?" Roger sputtered as he backed up to take Dorothy's hand. "I'd like to introduce you to someone very dear to me. This is Dorothy Wayneright."

"Why Roger, she's beautiful!" his mother crooned. "How do you do?"

"Pleased to meet you," his father rumbled as he kissed Dorothy's hand. "Congratulations, Roger. She's a great catch."

"Mom? Dad?" Roger clasped his gloved hands contritely. "Where are we? What is this place?"

"Did you hit your head?" his mother gasped. "This is our home!"

"Are you feeling alright Roger?" his father asked.

"I… don't remember," Roger shook his head sadly as he spread his arms and hugged his parents. "I don't remember any of this. Who are you? Where are we? Who am I?"

"You're our son," his father told him.

* * *

><p>On a desk filled with hourglasses a phone rings. Roger's hand picks up the receiver and a sinister voice says:<p>

_Next: There's No Place like Home_


	12. There's No Place Like Home

_The Big O and all of its settings and characters are owned by Bandai Visual, Sunrise, and Cartoon Network. _

THE BIG O:

ACT 32

SEIZE THE DAY

_Chapter Twelve: There's No Place like Home_

Norman waited patiently, waiting for something to change. So far nothing had. With the Big O's hatch open, from behind catwalk in the hanger Norman could look inside and see poor Master Roger and sweet Miss Dorothy like they were department store mannequins on display.

Miss Dorothy stood behind Big O's control chair, four cables snaking up from underneath Master Roger's chair to disappear in the rectangular cavity behind the android girl's open barrette. The elderly butler had never seen her barrette open that much and wondered if it was painful to her. The disk player style drive was exposed to view for her barrette was extended out almost a foot. Her eyes stared straight ahead, seeing nothing. But she wasn't as disturbing as Master Roger.

Poor Master Roger was still asleep, tossing and turning fitfully as he fought his nightmares. He was sitting in the cockpit with four snakelike cables piercing his back. It didn't seem natural, but now the monitors that Norman used to diagnose Big O's systems were reading off Master Roger's vital signs. Perhaps the cables in his back were some kind of emergency medical life support system in case the pilot was injured during a battle? But now half of them in Miss Dorothy's skull. He recalled his earlier conversation with Miss Dorothy to reassure himself.

* * *

><p>"He won't wake up, Norman," Miss Dorothy had said. "I tried everything I could to wake him but it's no use. I even poured water on him."<p>

"I can't understand it," Norman had replied. "Why won't he wake up? Nothing like this has ever happened before."

"Yes it has," Miss Dorothy had countered. "When we were at the lodge near Electric City we encountered a monster that was telepathic. Everyone's minds were assaulted by thoughts that were not their own and they went mad."

"And you think that… is what happened to Master Roger?" Norman had asked.

"You saw for yourself," Miss Dorothy had said. "He hasn't been the same since he came home. He's been sleeping less and less at night and virtually sleepwalking during the day. And now he won't wake up at all."

"And he's still having nightmares by the looks of him," Norman had sighed. "Oh my. How unpleasant." Norman had pulled Master Roger's eyelid open and shone a penlight in his eye. "Can you hear me Master Roger?" Norman had shouted. "Can you hear me sir? Blink if you understand!" Master Roger didn't respond. Norman had shaken his head sadly. "Oh my, for someone who's sleeping so restlessly he certainly is out of it isn't he? What shall we do? Should I call a doctor?"

"Do we trust any doctors who might actually be able to help him?" Miss Dorothy had asked. "The only doctors who would specialize in something like this would be specialists who could directly affect the mind. Can you think of one reason why funding would go into researching a field like that?"

"An altruistic one you mean?" Norman had asked. "Knowing that Paradigm would be funding such research, no I can't."

"Then it's up to us," Miss Dorothy had announced. "Fortunately I can think of one thing that should be able to help us. Big O."

"I'm sorry Miss Dorothy," Norman had apologized. "Did you say that Big O can help us? This emergency seems a little out of its area of expertise wouldn't you say?"

"When the monster at the lodge invaded Roger's mind Big O was able to access Roger's Memories and delete all trace of the creature's influence," Miss Dorothy had explained. "Unfortunately, I think that the job was left unfinished."

"You mean that if Master Roger was injured physically, say by a gunshot, it would be as if Big O removed the bullet but didn't close the wound," Norman had said. "Mentally speaking, Master Roger is still injured."

"Yes, and now Roger's mind is trying to treat itself," Miss Dorothy had said. "Roger has retreated entirely into himself has gone into a coma wracked with nightmares."

"But why?" Norman had asked. "Others have suffered psychological trauma and not gone into a nightmarish coma like this."

"Others haven't had their minds affected by as much as Roger has," Miss Dorothy had explained. "If you remember, the reason why Roger was so interested in the Dream Institute was because he wanted to know why he suffered nightmares and hallucinations in the first place. He believed that someone had made modifications to his Memories in the past and he was trying to investigate. I think that too many conflicting Memories have been inserted into his mind and that he's now 'hung up' like a crashed computer. He may be stuck in some kind of mental 'If Then' loop from which there is no escape."

"My goodness!" Norman had gasped. "What shall we do?"

"We'll use Big O to access Roger's subconscious," Miss Dorothy had said. "I know it has the ability, I've seen it do it before."

"But without special training how can we er… take advantage of that?" Norman had asked. "Giving Big O access to Master Roger's Memories is like starting an automobile without knowing how to drive. It can't be safe."

"I'll hook my central processing unit up to Big O and access Roger's mind," Miss Dorothy had said. "At the very least I should be able to communicate with him. Perhaps I'll be able to talk him out of his catatonic state."

"Are there any risks we should keep in mind?" Norman had asked.

"Perhaps," Miss Dorothy had conceded, "but I don't see any other choices."

* * *

><p>Thus they had wheeled Master Roger on a hospital gurney out onto the catwalk in the cavernous hanger and placed his unconscious body in Big O. Norman had hooked up an intravenous drip so Master Roger wouldn't suffer from dehydration but he wasn't sure what to do about feeding him. If he didn't wake up in another day Norman would have to call a doctor.<p>

"There is just one part that I don't understand," Norman had said. "I understand how you can hook yourself up to Big O, but I don't understand how that is going to help Master Roger. As far as I know, he doesn't have a data port."

"Big O will connect itself to Roger's nervous system," Miss Dorothy had explained. "I know it sounds strange but it's done it before. That's why I removed Roger's pajama top." Her barrette had risen off her head to reveal it was connected to a sliding DVD tray. Her tray extended out further than Norman had ever seen it. Eight slender cables had risen out from under Master Roger's chair and had writhed like snakes in the air. On the ends were sharp needles. "Big O understands what I what it to do." Miss Dorothy had said. "It's willing to patch me into Roger's mind. You can monitor our progress using the computers at your workstation. I'm ready Big O." Four of the cables had snaked into the cavity behind Miss Dorothy's barrette but four of them had pierced Master Roger's back near his spinal cord. Roger had twitched and grunted but otherwise hadn't responded.

"Oh dear," Norman gulped. "How grisly. This has happened before, Miss Dorothy?"

"Yes," Miss Dorothy had nodded.

"Good luck Miss Dorothy," The elderly butler had checked the computer screens at his workstation and had seen readouts and graphs that displayed Master Roger's heart rate, brainwave activity and other data, including a simplified map of his body. "How interesting," Norman had mused. "I didn't know it could do that."

"Patch me through Big O," Miss Dorothy had said. Her eyes glazed over and she said in a hollow voice. "Contact has been made."

* * *

><p>That had been twelve hours ago. The sun had gone down and now it was coming back up again. Norman had taken a nap and when he returned there was no change. If there was no change in twelve <em>more<em> hours what would he do? Was it safe to disconnect Miss Dorothy and Master Roger from Big O manually? What affect would it have on them? Could he take Master Roger to a hospital or would a doctor have to come here?

"He's awake," Miss Dorothy's voice called. "Big O, remove the umbilicals."

Norman looked up from the monitors to see the cables slide out of Master Roger's back and Miss Dorothy's head to disappear under the chair. "Master Roger, thank goodness you're finally awake," the old butler gushed as he pushed a wheelchair onto the catwalk. "It's been over twenty-four hours. I was afraid we were going to have to feed you with a tube."

"Let's get you cleaned up," Miss Dorothy said she helped him out of Big O and into the wheelchair. "You must be sore from sleeping so long."

"Not to worry sir, after you've freshened up I'll get some hot soup into you," Norman assured him. "You must be awfully stiff. Can you manage by yourself sir?"

"I'll be fine Norman," Master Roger nodded. "Am I awake for real this time?"

"Yes indeed Master Roger," Norman assured him. "Have no worries about that sir."

* * *

><p>At breakfast Norman waited on Roger, handing him napkins and utensils, bringing fresh courses and drinks, and taking away dirty dishes and silverware. Finally Roger spoke. "I must have had dozens of breakfasts with Dorothy in my dreams but this is the first time <em>you<em> were here Norman."

"Really sir?" Norman said. "How very odd."

"Norman waits on you at mealtime every day," Dorothy said. "I can only remember nine times in the past year that he wasn't waiting on you during breakfast. If he wasn't there in your dream, it means you weren't thinking about him."

Roger coughed in embarrassment. "Don't take it the wrong way, Norman. You were in some of my dreams. Just not at breakfast for some reason."

"Think nothing of it sir," Norman assured him. "I seem to have mastered being nonintrusive but indispensable. But I find it telling that you were thinking of Miss Dorothy. Was she present at _every_ breakfast in your dreams?"

"Uh yeah," Roger shrugged uncomfortably. "I guess so."

"How interesting," Norman murmured innocently. "What does it mean, I wonder? It would appear that Miss Dorothy is the sole subject of your thoughts."

Roger blushed furiously. "It doesn't mean anything Norman!" he protested. "Dorothy sits across from me every morning. It wouldn't seem like breakfast if I didn't see her across the table, that's all."

"Did you hear that Miss Dorothy?" Norman laughed. "It simply wouldn't be breakfast if you weren't here."

"Keep it up Norman, and _you'll_ be the one who won't be able to wake up," Roger muttered under his breath.

"That's all right sir," Norman smiled. "I'm sure you'll be back in good humor once you move around and get some exercise. I'll lay some clothes out for you."

* * *

><p>After breakfast Roger got dressed at walked out onto the rooftop patio to view the skyline of Paradigm City. He enjoyed the breeze and reflected on how good it was to be outside after being cooped up for so long.<p>

"You wanted to see me?" Dorothy said as she walked over to him.

"Yeah," he nodded. "I'm surprised to wake up in Paradigm City. Shouldn't we be out in the country or something?"

"Your coma didn't hit you immediately," Dorothy explained. "After our trip to Dinosaur Lodge you didn't sleep well and had nightmares. Then one morning you just wouldn't wake up at all."

"How long was I out?" Roger asked.

"I don't know when you went to sleep that night but I would estimate forty-eight hours or so," she replied as she gazed out at the city.

"Why didn't you take me to a doctor?" he asked her. "That would have been the sensible thing to do wouldn't it?"

"We didn't know which doctors we could trust," Dorothy explained. "Any doctor who could help you would most likely be part of a conspiracy to take over people's minds. Taking you to a doctor who couldn't help you would just tell your enemies that you were vulnerable. It seemed safest to deal with the emergency in house."

"'Any doctor who could help me would most likely be part of a conspiracy to take over peoples minds'?" Roger mocked. "Whoever said androids don't have imaginations never met _you_."

"When we went to Dinosaur Lodge we found technology that would have been perfect for bringing you out of your coma," Dorothy said. "It was misused before it was even perfected."

"Yeah, I guess you have a point there," Roger muttered before lapsing into an uneasy silence. "I had a lot of strange dreams," he finally murmured.

"Yes." She let that word hang in the air without elaborating.

"You were in all of them," he continued.

"I'm flattered," she said as she stood next to him instead of hopping up on the wall at the edge of the roof like she normally did. "What do you suppose that means?"

"Were you really in my dreams, Dorothy?" Roger turned to look at her.

"You just said that I was," she said without looking back at him.

"No. You know what I mean," Roger clarified. "Were you actually in my head? Were you actually there? Did you experience my dreams right along with me?"

"Will the answer disturb you Roger Smith?" she gave him a sideways glance.

"I'll take that as a yes," he sighed as he leaned on the wall. "You must think I'm pathetic," he added as he looked away. "All of my secrets were laid bare. I couldn't hide anything from you. Whatever I thought just happened. It was like all my insecurities were parading around in a beauty contest or something."

"If it helps, I found it hard to hide things from you as well," Dorothy said as she gazed out at Paradigm City. "Your body reacted to my feelings while I was in there. I now have an appreciation of why humans act the way they do."

"Not so easy, is it?" he winked.

"No," she agreed, "but it was quite invigorating. It made me feel alive."

"Would you want to feel that way all the time?" Roger asked her.

"I don't know," she admitted, "but I enjoyed the attention you gave me. You were very attentive to my tears, Roger. Perhaps I should cry more often."

Roger shifted uncomfortably and looked at the ground. "You know Dorothy, I hope I didn't embarrass or frighten you with my wild fantasies towards the end there."

"It's all right," Dorothy assured him. "You were dreaming about me. That means that I matter to you, perhaps more than anyone else. It means a lot to me."

Roger chuckled ruefully. "Hopefully you won't file a restraining order. Some of my fantasies were… inappropriate to say the least."

"You think of me as a person and not a machine," Dorothy pointed out, "and you're considering the possibility that I can be more than just a dependent. I don't see where I have anything to complain about. I learned a lot seeing myself through your dreams. What about you, Roger? Have you learned anything about yourself? Did you have any epiphanies?"

"Aside of the fact that I'm a bigger mess than I thought?" Roger grunted. "Not really. I don't get it. If the reason I kept dreaming was because I was having some kind of identity crisis, why did I finally wake up? None of my dreams actually resolved anything."

"Yes they did," Dorothy tilted her head. "For a moment, you knew that you were the son of those two people you said were your parents."

"That doesn't mean anything," Roger waved his hand disparagingly. "They could have been planted in my Memories by Gordon Rosewater. That Memory doesn't mean a thing. And anyway I believed a lot of strange stuff when I was dreaming, but I still didn't snap out of it. How was that any different?"

"At the time you didn't just believe they were your parents, you _knew_ they were your parents," Dorothy clarified. "You accepted them. There's a difference."

"I guess there is," he grumbled. "These dreams, they mean something. They're telling me that I can't keep going on living in the Now while I hide from the past and ignore the future. I'm going to have to break Roger Smith's Rule Number One and investigate my past. I've always said we should let go of the past and live in the present but I can't let it go anymore. There are just too many questions."

"I agree," she said. "After experiencing your dreams I have a question of my own."

"Oh really?" Roger raised an eyebrow. "What is it?"

"Am I really your princess?" she asked with a subtle smile.

Roger cleared his throat and pulled at his collar before looking away uncomfortably.

_We Have Come to Terms_

* * *

><p>Dorothy and Roger sit on a large hourglass the size of a barstool. Behind them is an orange background. The sound of a piano and the duet of a man and woman singing can be heard.<p>

_Sometimes I feel so all alone_

_Finding myself callin' your name_

_When we're apart, so far away_

_Hopin' it's me that you're thinkin' of_

_Could it be true, could it be real?_

_My heart says that you're the one._

_There's no one else, you're the only one for me._

_Yes, this time my love's the real thing._

_Never felt that love is so right._

_The world seemed such an empty place._

_We need someone we could give our all._

_Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever._

_Could it be true, could it be real?_

_My heart says that you're the one._

_There's no one else, you're the only one for me._

_Yes, this time my love's the real thing._

_Never felt that love is so right._

_The world seemed such an empty place._

_We need someone we could give our all._

_Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever._

_Never felt that love is so right._

_The world seemed such an empty place._

_We need someone we could give our all._

_Baby, it's you, we'll be together now and forever. _


End file.
